Kim Possible : 'The Ron Identity'
by eckles
Summary: How far will you go to get the person you love back? And what if he can never come back to the way and the person he was? What if he's afraid too? And what if he discovers your one of the reasons for all this?
1. Chapter 1

_**2013**_

She never believed she would ever be in this room again, not after what happened eight-years ago. She had sworn black-and-blue back then that her days of helping others were over until they started helping her in return. But time can change a person and no matter how precious those pertaining memories were to her, their iron grasp upon the emotions that had originally fuelled many tear soaked nights were slowly loosening and falling into the realm of the forgotten.

Where once she had stood opposite this same desk, spitting a tirade of hellfire and brimstone, she had now learned from sad and bitter experience that her anger, righteous or not, can only get you so far in achieving your goal. And any directed hatred towards others does very little to ease your own guilt in the loss and neglect of a friend.

Eight years.

Eight desperate and lonely years.

Could it really have been so long?

Has it truly been eight years since she last saw his smile, heard his laugh or had even offered a polite giggle as he exclaimed an excited 'Booyah!' Somehow, in her haunted memories, it seemed a lot longer to her.

She remembers back with mixed emotions to when all this misery began for her. She and Ron had both graduated Middleton High and the world was now open to them in away that it had never been before. They were both viewed as adults, not only in age but also in deeds. She had, as expected, graduated with distinction in all her subjects and every College she had applied for, and some she didn't; all came knocking on her door with the invitation to attend them. She could not contain her excitement, especially when she received an opportunity of a lifetime to be enrolled at Oxford University in England with a full Scholarship already issued in her name, if she had wanted it. And she did.

The prestige associated towards attending this exulted School was one she dreamed of for many years and one she could not easily pass up. Ron, unfortunately, had found that unlike her the ambitious piles of applications he had sent out months earlier had few responses in the _'We're-interested-in-You'_ Department. His school grades, though fair, were not of the same caliber of her own and despite her enquiries to the Academic Administration Office of Oxford University _(on his behalf)_ she was told that they had lacked the same confidence she did towards his abilities in maintaining a minimum course average. As such they declined her suggestion of him participating in a joint-scholarship program with her.

This news devastated all hopes she held for the pair proceeding together to the same College and she did not wish to start this new and exciting 'adventure' without him. But Ron being Ron was excessive in his encouragement for her to pursue her happiness and dream and did not want to be an obstacle in making this 'journey-to-higher-learning' a difficult one for her.

The sad-funniness of it all, and one which had caused many sleepless nights for years since that fateful parting was that regardless of whether Oxford would have accepted her boyfriend or not, she had committed herself to the decision of going anyway. Prepared to leave her boyfriend behind in Middleton, willing to pursue a long-distance relationship with him. She had only let Ron believe he had convinced her as an offering to his ego and to help make him feel better in believing that he had made a contribution towards this decision and 'sacrifice'.

It was not easy to say goodbye to the one boy who had been the center of all the good in her life and to then place her finger on the 'relationship-pause-button'. But she did, with the promise to him that regardless of the days that followed that she would keep in daily touch with him and that they will see each other again during the first school holidays.

So with this solemn promise to the first true love of her life, and with the rest of '_The Fam_' in tow, she was driven to the International Terminal of Lowerton Airport to depart for her new life of academia overseas. And even though she knew that it was _'No Big'_ to place their romance on hold and that Ron would remain true to her, she was however concerned to how Ron would manage remaining in Middleton all alone and attending the local Community College by himself.

Monique had moved to New York to pursue an apprenticeship in Fashion Design through the Club Banana Fashion House, and Felix had been accepted into Cal. Tech to study Robotics. And even though Kim knew that Ron would have been happily kept busy in the Pet Section of Smarty Mart, there was a small 'snobbish' part in her that wanted him to aspire to being more then a Red-Vest-Wearing Drone of a Mega Sales Corporation. So with this in mind she spent the previous night before her departure writing a detailed report on the subject of _Ronald Dean Stoppable_ and then e-mailing it to Dr. Betty Director's private account at _Global Justice_.

She knew that in the next few weeks that there would be their annual GJ Recruitment Drive and she desperately wanted Ron's name to be submitted to the pile of possible candidates. And even though she strongly suspected within her that the chances of Ron actually being accepted into the same organization that revered a stiff-shirt like Will Du as the best of the best was an equal part slim to a nothing chance. She was still hoping that the invitation to participate in recruitment process would help offer Ron the impression that if GJ had thought he was worthy to interview then it might inspire him to pursuing something better then working for minimum wage for Mr. Smarty.

The Report she made was as lengthy as it was concise. It outlined all his positives and downplayed all of his negatives. Both private knowledge and public were written of with gusto, from him being a destined Monkey Kung Fu Master to also possessing infiltration skills way in advanced of many others his own age. The only request she made to Betty was on part of keeping her involvement confidential and to not make Ron think he was being considered as a personal favor to her, but rather one based upon his own merits.

That morning before she left for the Airport, Dr Director e-mailed her back offering her an assurance that this request would be happily honored. And everyday for two weeks she and Ron spoke and e-mailed each other, regardless of the differences in the Time zone. And she waited both quietly and excitedly for the not to distant day when Dr Director would keep her word and send him an official GJ invitation and then have him brag to her, in a very typical Ron-type fashion, that Global Justice wanted to consider making him an Agent-in-Training.

Eventually, Ron received in the mail a printed directive for him to come into the Middleton GJ Headquarters for an interview. He could not contain his enthusiasm. It was, in truth, the first time in over two weeks where his 'Ronshine' actually made it all the way to his eyes and she was excited that she had played a part in making him feel good about himself and his future.

The next day he left for his appointment with _Global Justice_, leaving Rufus in the care of the Tweebs. And then …. nothing.

He disappeared that day.

Even the locator-chip implanted by Wade years earlier wasn't sending out a signal that could be traced or found anywhere on the Globe. And as troubling as this discovery was for her to discover, it only left her and the _'Hacker-extraordinaire'_ with only one extraordinary conclusion. Ron, despite the impossible, had actually managed to pass all the criteria expected of him to become a Field Agent and was now, at that moment in time, in the Ultra-Secret Agency's Training Campus.

Weeks became months and no word from Ron was ever sent, either to her or his own family. And when Oxford's first round of vacations began she flew back home to America on the first available International Flight to visit her family and to also approach GJ Headquarters with the humble hopes of Dr Director bending some of the strict rules in place, allowing her to spend time with her boyfriend before she had to return hack to Oxford.

So it was in this same office, which she now sat, that Dr Betty Director informed her with a very surprised expression plastered across her eye-patched face, that there had been no interview with Ron Stoppable. There was no interview, because she never received the e-mail Report on Ron that Kim had claimed she had sent to her 'Mailbox' months earlier. Accusations were made by her of a 'cover-up' and then demands to the 'lying pirate skank' on the whereabouts of her Boyfriend.

Betty's response to Kim's irrational panic and concern was to press a button upon her desk and invite a dozen Field Agents into her office abode in order to successfully subdue the teen hero without harming her. Kim was then placed in a holding Cell until she had calmed down and was prepared to talk to the GJ Leader in a reasonable fashion.

She remained in that 12-by-8 foot locked room for 2-days, refusing any food and water until 'her' Ron was bought to her. But by the end of the 48-hour solitude and chosen-starvation all of her strength and fury had ebbed away to one of exhaustion. Only then did Dr. Director again approach her and once again the words that had left the Senior Spy's mouth were ones of assurance that Global Justice was unaware of the fate of Ron Stoppable and that they had never received an e-mail from her or sent out any _'invitation'_ for him to join their ranks.

Kim wanted to believe her in the same way that she wanted to disbelieve her. For to believe Dr. Director's guarantee was also to also believe that Ron had disappeared without any trace and that she in her confidence and complacency had willingly allowed any possible trail to finding him become cold and frigid. Still there was something about the manner in which Dr. Director had managed her and this situation that seemed to her as suspicious.

At her eager urging, Wade, did a complete and stealthy gutting of their data-banks for any reference towards Ron. The boy-genius found nothing aside from the standard old notes that had been stored aside referencing the _'Ron-Factor'_ Project and Zorpox persona. But still, even with no evidence pointing to complicity, Kim, continued to hold doubts towards the honesty of her former Mentor. Dr. Director was far to 'distant' and evasive and any reliable information could have been easily purged in those three-days before contact was made was made by her with Wade to double check their claims.

Kim refused to return to England to continue her education and instead devoted all of her time to finding her former partner. She had dried up all of her bank of favors searching for any clue to the whereabouts of Ronald Dean Stoppable. Even some people who she once looked upon as foes happily volunteered their extensive influence to aid her cause. The Senior's placed a 50,000,000 bounty on any reliable information that could lead to the location of Ron (_dead or alive_). The trouble with this though was that with a reward of this magnitude it only incurred Wade to spend 99 of his time back checking all of the false leads supplied by unreliable and greedy people. The other 1 were those who had been genuinely mistaken.

With three-years of no success and a worldwide campaign that had placed the search of the 'Lindbergh Baby' to shame, Kim, had to accept that Ron was most likely gone … for good. And that it was equally probable that one of her and his many enemies that had done the deed. Unfortunately, every likely suspect from Gill to the still petrified Monkey Fist had an alibi and was untouchable to this suspected crime.

Slowly she moved on with her life. She fell in love, and just as quickly, she fell out of love several times in the coming years. Choosing to stay in Middleton and looking after Rufus until he also 'moved on' to the great Bueno Nacho Restaurant in the sky. To the little-guy's credit, he stayed alive 5-years longer then the normal life expectancy of a Mole-Rat. The only suspected cause for this was that he, like his new Mistress, had held out hope that one-day they would again be reunited with his _'Human'_.

When Rufus passed on the last and final link to Ron, the boy she loved and the one she offered her heart too had been effectively severed. Both her parents, the Stoppable's and Hanna (who could barely remember her older 'brother') begged her to return to living for herself and no longer for the ghost of a memory. But to do something like that meant that she needed closure. And that was something she feared she would never have.

So now here she sat, in a seat of harshly uncomfortable molded plastic. The summons she received was unexpected and had directed her to personally arrive with haste to Middleton GJ Headquarters, under the United States Government Directive #29444662. She could have come willingly or she could have been taken by force. She had chosen the former and not the later, as any fight she once possessed was no-longer held in her spirit.

As the clock chimed 3:00pm an aged man with the appearance of a Professor and coiled wisdom entered the lonely office and sat behind the desk she had been awkwardly facing for 15-minutes. He did not look towards her or even acknowledged her presence. He slid a single sheet of paper across the varnished desk accompanied with a black pen. He did not communicate with words but his eyes told her the story to read the document and then sign it.

Picking up the offending piece of paper, the former teen heroine skimmed down the sheet. Atop and center was the emblem of the CIA. The contents contained on the page were a confidentiality agreement she had never in her life seen before. It was made clear that if the signer was to divulge the coming information to anyone outside of 'the know' on the topic in question of the 'Treadstone Project' or anything else related. That she, and the recipient she shared this information with would be dealt with extremely. What was unnerving was that throughout the document there was no reference made to prison, only 'extreme management'.

Kim's experience told her that she should get up and walk out the door, effectively washing her hands in playing any role. But her curiosity won out and her signature found a home on a dotted line at the bottom of the page.

With slick efficiency, the man retrieved the contact and pressed a button on the underside of the desk. In seconds, Dr. Director entered followed behind her by Field Operative Will Du. With contempt, Agent Du, accepted the paper from the man sitting at the desk and left the room.

As soon as the door was closed, Betty Director activated a remote that was placed upon her belt buckle and the sound of a lock could be heard clicking closed and the hissing of expelled air from the window frames.

"My Office is now secure and sound proofed, Sir."

"Alright then. Sit down, Betty."

Kim looked upon the Senior Agent and to her surprise the 45-year old woman made no effort to reclaim her desk and chair from the 'stranger', but rather sat down besides her.

As if reading her mind the man offered the 26-year old an amused smile to her obvious surprise. "One of the benefits of age and seniority, Ms Possible. When you plant yourself, no-one dares to uproot you." With a surrender of a smile, the aged man continued. "My name is not important, at least not important for you to know, and believe me, Kimberly, if you did then that would be a bad thing. Just look upon me as a man who is asking for the specific services of the worldwide adventurer and former teen-heroine, Kimberly Anne Possible."

"If you are asking me to save the world, country, city or even a town block, I would like you to know _Mister Man_ that I'm officially retired."

With an edgy smirk on his 60-year old face the stranger replied. "Mister Man? Not bad, as pseudonyms go I could live with that, though I have to confess it lacks abit of originality that I would have placed upon a forward thinker such as yourself. But no, Ms Possible. It is not your heroics I wish to engage, but rather a … psychological understanding. And as to the question of retired? Given the excitement of your earlier life, I sincerely doubt that such a decision was one of choice. Besides, even if you had _'retired'_ I would have had to have called you out of it."

"Why?"

"An operative of ours who has recently gone _'off the ranch'_, so to speak. And we need someone of your background and knowledge to track him down before things get out of hand. For him, us and this country that we call home."

Kim couldn't help but like this man, despite the circumstances of her being asked to return to the room of her last and greatest failure. His tone though was warm and friendly also carried confidence and barring towards the significance of the words he spoke. And in this she found, despite herself, an appreciation for the man. But she was refusing to let her guard down and remembering the CIA insignia on the contract she had just signed a couple of minutes before, the only question that placed itself in her mouth was the obvious one. "Are we talking defection?"

Leaning forward and showing a glint in his eye that told Kim that he was pleased with her participation in the conversation, Mr. Man, slowly shock his head in the negative. "Doubtful, but to be honest my dear, we're not entirely sure either. We just know that it is totally out of character for him to break protocols and run his own game-play without getting it approved by the Team Captain, if you know what I mean. Infact up, Ms Possible, until a week ago we had all, more or less, come to the erroneous conclusion that as his assigned 'Target' had not been … removed, that he had infact met with befallen circumstances. Circumstances that would have relieved us of his services - permanently. Which was, to be honest, something of a pity as he was one of our most reliable and most accomplished assets in the field? No, Ms Possible not defection, it is I fear something significantly worse."

"And that is?"

"Retirement."

"Excuse me? Speaking as someone who does see themselves as _retired_, how can such a thing possibly be worse then defection?"

"Kimberly, I am not going to insult your intelligence towards what you might already suspect my role is. I am a 'Handler' of problem solvers. I give present various trained people problems that exist for the United States, and ask them to solve such problems permanently without any connection being made to the present Administration.

"An individual who shifts their allegiances are usually, and often, people who can see the benefits of accepting _'deals'_. Such people can be negotiated with in a predictable manner or can be drawn out from whatever place they've holed themselves for sex or money. And with this exposure made they can be dealt with by other 'Problem Solvers'.

"But those people, in my line of profession, who chose to _'retire',_ generally exhibit no such tangible vices and are motivated to none other but themselves and their continued retirement. That makes them unpredictable and pretty much untouchable by conventional means, it's even worse if they are being beset with a conscience or a shift in morality. Such things would make them unpredictable AND a liability to exposing things to the World Media that we would not want them too. And that, Ms. Possible, is what makes this young man in question a concern to me and a potential _problem_ for United States.

"It is only by his exemplary service to this country to date that I myself have taken the risk of introducing a civilian to addressing this matter of ours. I dearly want to believe my dear that there is an explanation for his silence and that he can still be counted upon by us as a resource. But as I said, it's been a week and thus far we have not received any reassurances from him that he is a man we can still rely upon. And that is where you get involved, Kimberly. I want, no … I need you to draw him out. You are, quite honestly, his last and only hope to survive this maelstrom he has created within the higher ranks. My Superior's are already considering submitting his name to the _Grim Reaper_, and it's been only through my limited influence that I have bought both him and yourself 72-hours. And seventy-two hours only. I truly wish it were more, but you have earnt a reputation of _being able to do anything_. And believe me, Kimberly; your reputation will be placed to the ultimate test with this Assignment. Because with this man's training, if he wants to be a ghost and a whisper in the gale, then by God and Thunder he can be just that. He truly is that good."

"Three-days, are you kidding me?! Three-days to track down someone I have never met or know! And who said I would even accept this Mission of yours? The contract I signed was one of guaranteed silence on the nature of these proceedings, not a guarantee of participation."

Mr. Man leaned back in Dr Director's chair and nodded solemnly to her observations and claims. He then arched his finger tips together and bought them close to his chest in contemplation for the words he was going to speak. "You are correct, Ms Possible, three-days isn't an abundance of time. But if anyone could be doing it then I wouldn't be asking you, now would I? To your second statement, when did I ever mention that you did not know this individual? You are perhaps one of the few on this planet who might be able to anticipate, as well as call him in from _out of the cold_. As to _'Acceptance'_? You are correct, you are not obligated to do anything else but remain silent upon exiting this room on the subjects discussed. It is just fortunate that due to your previous standing upon the World Stage during your teenage years that you have already achieved the clearance necessary for us to even have this dialogue and that this _'Approval Level'_ has not lapsed or been cancelled, otherwise I would not even be boring you with my presence."

Feeling as though she had gained a measured victory in asserting her personal rights, Kim, allowed herself to relax in the chair. "Fine then. Now tell me who is this person you want me to hunt down and why do you think I can do it?"

"Because, Ms Possible, in this case, particularly after a lengthy discussion with Betty here, I firmly believe that you would not WANT to do this, and that the alternative to failure would be one that would be unacceptable to you." After speaking these words the man pulled out a bound folder from the desk draw on his side of the table and opened it. He then removed a photograph of a man and handed it across to the young red-head sitting opposite to him.

Upon accepting of the photograph three things immediately caught her inner-attention. The first was that under normal circumstances she would probably be drooling and crooning over what a _'First-Class-Hottie'_ he was, if present company had not been present, of coarse.

The second was that the young man in the photo eyes seemed vacant of all warmth and emotion. He instincts told her that this was not because he was devoid of such things, but rather that he could not make any 'connection' to them. That for him to touch any emotion bought to him a misery, so it was therefore easier for him not to even try.

The third and final point was complete un recognition. Mr. Man's words of having a deep understanding of this stranger only now confused her.

"You don't know who he is, do you?" The question started her because it was the first time in years Betty Director had even spoken to her directly, and unlike the last time she did there was now a soft and regretful lithe in her voice. "That man your looking at, he's completely unknown to you, isn't he."

All Kim could do was cautiously nod her head as she placed the photograph once more upon the desk that she had picked it up from. "Should I? Know him, I mean."

The male voice of Mr. Man crossed over to them. "It would be a bad state of affair's if she did. What would have been the point of having minor cosmetic surgery performed if any Tom, Dick and Harriet from his previous life could draw him out of a crowd? The trick is for the surgery not to be extensive, just minor work. Pin the ears back, square the jaw up a notch. A bit of laser work to remove blemishes and the odd small scar and freckle. People who have extreme work done always come out of the procedure looking _'not right'_ and fake no matter how good the surgeon is. Sometimes it is the small alterations that can make all the difference in the world."

With these collective comments, Kim snatched the High-Definition photograph back and started playing with a mental jigsaw of the image in her mind. Ears …Chin …Freckles. She didn't want to believe it, it was impossible for her to believe except … Yes, if you were to have this 'stranger's' ears pointing out, made his chin more angular and added several faded freckles upon his cheeks … The anger, the fight, the _'Kimness'_ that had left her so long ago now returned with a vengeance and it was all she could do not to scream out a mixture of obscenities. She leapt across the table that was a barrier between herself and the _'Grandfather'_ figure she had only moments before been admiring, but by the time her feet became planted on the carpet before him she found her eyes staring down the barrel of a handgun.

In this frozen second of judging her own mortality over vengeance a swarm of GJ Agent's entered the office, much as they had done several years earlier.

"Truly, Betty, you certainly love to make a mountain out of a mole hill, don't you. Ms. Possible has no intentions of doing anything rash, she was just expressing herself. Was it really necessary for you to send out a Duress Signal? She wasn't going to do anything foolish, impulsive maybe, but not foolish. And now the impulse is no present, is it?" As if to emphasize a response from her a very loud click could be heard as he drew the hammer back on his firearm. Kim carefully nodded, not willing to trust herself to speaking words or taking her eyes of a man she now loathed more then any other in her entire life. "See. So why don't all these nice clean cut gentleman wait outside. Ms Possible is far too reasonable a person to try and kill the man who wants to help her get her long awaited _'Golden Goose'_."

Without waiting for an order to do so from the Director, the six man squad turned and closed the door. When the sound-seal was once more engaged, Mr. Man, lowered his weapon slightly, still keeping his face locked with the young woman.

Her voice was full of rage, and it pitched and shock as her words made sentences. "That's Ron, isn't it. You had him all this time. What did you do to him? That man's not him – WHAT DID YOU DO?!"

"Your asking the wrong person Ms. Possible, I didn't do anything – You did!!"

"WHAT?!"

Placing his gun on the desk, yet still comfortably in his grasp, Mr. Man rotated his free-hand in annoyance. "Do you honestly believe that your Report on Mr. Stoppable would only have met Betty's eyes alone? We're the CIA, Missy. By the time Bett's hear had gotten into her Office poured herself a cup of Coffee her personal e-mail would have been read by people from Homeland Security, The FBI, Interpol, MI6 as well as us, and she would have been none the wiser to the invasion. Just as her people are doing the exact same thing to leaders of these Organization's as well.

"In a nutshell, Ms Possible, we are in the Spy Trade and whether it is allies or enemies everything comes down to this simple saying – _'Knowledge is Power'_. At the time of this interception, the CIA were in the process of organizing a Black Bag Project called _'Treadstone'_ now it goes by the name - _'Operation Blackbriar'_. We coincidently, at that time looking for candidates, acceptable candidates to participate in this very risky conditioning process.

"We were looking for people who were idealistic, with mentally flexible boundaries of morality and necessity to duty. The arrival and formation of your Report was as well timed as it was comprehensive to all we were seeking, Ms Possible. Combat experience, Free-falling, infiltration, offensive snowboarding and climbing, underwater skills, even limited flying ability of a range of aircraft. Added to being a Master of Tai Sheng Pek Kwar, he also had this unnatural ability to never be noticed even when he was standing out in the open for everyone to see.

"Now tell me, Kimberly, if you were in our position and you read a resume of abilities like this, plus a Covering Letter requesting from Betty the desire for Mr. Stoppable to have his ego stroked. All with the aim that he might aspire to things beyond his present station, what would you do? You weren't expecting him to really pass her Recruitment, were you. It would have been a waste of her time, his time and yours. We had a young man eager to prove himself and a young lady who wanted him to. The underlying embarrassment you had for him and how it reflected upon you is not something we even need comment on"

"THAT'S CRAP! RON IS AND WAS MY LIFE!!"

"But you weren't satisfied, were you. You were going places and he was 'stalled'. As I said, we saw him as a resource, one that you all but handed to us. GJ, CIA we both do our selective parts in keeping this planet safe, except where GJ is a glorified Police Force, the CIA are involved in things of significance. It's like comparing a Band-Aid to Open Heart Surgery. He could play in the Minor's or he could swing it with the Big Boy's. It was his choice."

"Is this how you convinced him to become your personal clandestine murderer? You played this sad and tired song to his ego?"

With a seductive smile, Mr. Man shock his head in amusement. "Your report did provide us with a psychological understanding of the subject. And yes, we did use that Model to graft a series of questions that would illicit responses that steered his rational to our way of thinking. But no, Ms Possible, we are no so foolish as to have tabled the concept of turning him into an operative of _certain skills_ right there and then at the initial interview. As I had already said, _Blackbriar_ was a Project designed to recondition the mindset of certain people in order for them to be able to do certain things when it was demanded of them. We just wanted and needed his commitment to the Project, he didn't need to know the ultimate objective of this Project, he just had to stay the coarse. Afterall, if he did then it would have potentially skewed the outcome, and that was something our experts did not want.

"So in order to acquire this co-operation from him on a grand experiment that he was not allowed to know anything about. Our collection of well-paid Shrinks thought that in presenting him with a copy of your Report on him and the accompanying Letter that both would be enough for him to want to do this. For no other reason then because you had stated that you were hoping, quote : _for him to gain some direction and ambition in his life_ – end quote, and that you thought this might help him achieve this.

"So to reiterate, Ms Possible, we didn't do anything to force his participation in the Program. That was all you. And by the time he had finally completed the various processes involved, he was … well, he was no longer who he was but rather who we wanted him to be. End of story."

With tears descending down her cheeks, Kim's expression held firm. She was not going to offer either of these two the satisfaction of seeing her guilt at ruining Ron's life with the memory of her own insecurities and embarrassment at dating an employee of Smarty-Mart when she was attending Oxford University. She lent over and once more picked up Ron's picture, caught in the vacentness of the eyes staring back at her. "If he isn't Ron, _my Ron_, then who the Hell is he?"

With a shrug, Mr. Man, looked to the sheet in front of him. "It depends. Two-years ago he was Marc Cain, a year before that he was Edward Miller, before that he was David Webb."

This was not the answer she was asking, infact her question was purely rhetorical, yet she couldn't hid her sarcasm and anger at hearing the casualness of _Man's_ voice. "And now?"

"Now? Now he goes by the name, Jason Bourne."

**_TBC ??_**

_A/N – This is my first Kim Possible Fic, So please be gentle with your critics …lol. It is also a tribute to all those great KP/RS Authors on site, you all know who you are. So what are you doing reading this? Review already ;-)…lol._


	2. Chapter 2

In a life of secrets the smallest delivery of privacy is worth more to you then your next breath of oxygen. With all his objectives concluded in the Headquarters of 'Globe Justice' and with his goal achieved, the individual who was call, less then an hour earlier, by a feisty red-head - _'Mr. Man'_ sat in the rear section of his chauffeured driven Limousine. With the partition up and the audio senor device scrambling all electronic frequency within a one-meter radius of the cabin, with the exception of one secured bandwidth, the aged clandestine gentleman activated the screen facing him.

As he expected he did not have to wait too long to receive an 'accepted' prompt from his desired destination of Langley, Virginia. The screen lit up to reveal a very intense Jack Conklin staring deep into the affixed camera. "Dammit, you took your blasted time. What happened? Is she in play, or not?"

A dry chuckle escaped, Man's, mouth at how ragged his fellow operative appeared. They say that 24 hours is a long time in politics, in the world of espionage and black-bag-operations it is considerably longer. "It's nice to see you too, Jack, how's the weather there?"

"Don't get cute. I don't have the time or patience to play around with your bullshit. Did she accept the assignment or not?"

Leaning back in the leather rear seat and pouring himself a scotch from the mini-bar the aged man proceeded to toy with his professional friend's state of mind. "Judging by your demeanor, Jack, I am guessing that our dear _errant friend_ still has not stepped out of the shadows with any explanation for his whereabouts these past couple of weeks or activity?"

"Oh, he's stepped out all right. Right into the US Embassy in Zurich."

"And this isn't good?"

"Good? That Fucker beat the shit out of three stationed Marines and tore through the place like he owned it. By God if I wasn't so pissed, I'd be fucken' impressed at his size of his balls." Jack Conklin began typing a few commands upon his keyboard and sliding his mouse about his desk top. "Give me a moment, I'll send you a copy from the Security Camera's."

After 15 seconds a _'Receiving File'_ Icon appeared on the left hand side of _Mr. Man's_ screen. Five-seconds later the file had completely downloaded itself and was accessible for review.

When the icon was clicked open a quarter of the screen was consumed with Jason Bourne rapidly and easily disarming stationed security and using one of the weapon's commandeered to point at an Embassy Official. "Impressive. You did notice, Jack that though that he had the opportunity that he didn't kill any of them. Odd don't you think?"

"Of course I noticed. He broke the first blasted rule – _No Witnesses_. And apparently it hasn't been the first either. There was an APB placed out the night before from two Zurich Cop's that were doing a round of a nearby Park. They came across a vagrant lying on a bench, someone who matched Bourne's description. But when they tired to _'urge'_ him along, well, he all but fed them their own nightsticks."

Man shock his head in surprise. "He left them alive also? Interesting. Strange that a person who has only been trained to kill without any hesitation has suddenly left more spectator's to his abilities in the past 24-hours then he has for the past 7-years."

"Interesting? I call it a catastrophe. Interpol wants in on this, but as all this transpired in our Consulate and therefore upon American Soil we've been able to feed them all kinds of National Security crap, but this is a delay of their attention, not a removal of it. Bourne is running lose and fast, Abe, and if they don't get an image from us soon then they are going to be asking themselves the question of _why_ that is. If he's really gone Rogue then we need to sour the tit and put him out of our misery before anyone outside _the know_ can join the dots from him to us."

"He certainly doesn't seem to be operating with the discretion we taught him, is he?"

"How about telling me shit that I don't already know, Sherlock. Now back with my original question - Possible, is she on board? Yes, or No?"

"To be honest, Jack, were you in any doubt that she wouldn't be?"

"Of coarse not. But that's not the real problem is it? The problem is that we have now created for ourselves an extra security breach, and a civilian one at that. How much does she actually know, Abe? What exactly have you debriefed her on?"

"Enough to be useful to us in flushing, Bourne, out. And a little more included to gain her trust and cooperation, as such I have had to offer her full disclosure on a few sensitive issues. But it is neither mind since the ultimate objective will be to remove her as a threat as soon as we have secured Jason."

"Bringing her in on this was a bad idea, Abe."

"Bad idea, good idea. The truth is Jack, it was an idea and we had none. As it presently stands, we need to explore this one to its full potential. Bourne is not, it seems, governing his actions by any conceivable strategy we can identify. He seems to be almost … floundering with respects to his training. And that is totally out of character for him, as such we are having difficulty predicting what he is going to do next and why, true?"

"Yeah, so what's your point?"

"My point, Jack is that when you are in circumstances where you cannot predict the behavior of a subject, what do you do? Simple. You introduce a variable to that problem that you can predict. And Kimberly Possible, Jack, is a very, VERY predictable variable. Jason Bourne may have been trained to disappear like a mist in the wind, but Possible? She's too well known. Even nearly 5 years after her retirement from Crime Fighting, she's still a very recognizable personality and face. Bourne might have the skills to be able to slide under the radar, but her? No. Find her, and then we find Bourne."

"Y'know that all this is dependent upon her locating him, or visa versa, before one of our other Asset's do."

"Of coarse, and I have every faith that she shall. Because where our other men in the Field want to take his life, she has an extra advantage over them due to this simple fact - she wants to save it! That incentive alone, Jack, will give her a maniacal edge."

"Edge or not, the chances of them running into each other, especially if one of them has chosen to go to ground, will be astronomical. It's not likely they'll bump into one another out on the streets, is it?"

"Of coarse not. But fortune tends to favor the brave and the foolish, Jack. In all likelihood she will first proceed to visit his Apartment in Paris. And who knows, she might get lucky towards discovering any clues outlining Bourne's ultimate objective and a way of him achieving this."

"Pointless, our people have already done a though once over. There's nothing there."

"Yes, but they were looking through the eyes of someone who has had covert training. They may have missed something because they were looking for evidence that were subtle. Ms Possible might be more successful, principally due to the relationship she once had with our Target. She may see things that only someone who has had that level of intimacy could."

Jack Conklin rubbed his chin in a pondering fashion before adding to the conversation. "Well, if she's going to his Apartment, as you suspect she will "

" Trust me, Jack, she will. Remember, she's predictable and it's the only place she has to start this little quest of hers. Besides, I suspect she will also want to get an added feel for the man he has now become. That kind of curiosity can be quite a compelling factor to the right person."

"If so then I will have to advise one of our _Mechanic's _of her potential to entering a_ 'Hot Zone'_. He has order's to place Bourne's home under surveillance in the event of any possible return and to enact decisively upon in removing him as a concern to us. It'd do no good for him to blow his cover in order to deal with her if he can avoid it. And right now I would much rather prefer to avoid it."

"What do you mean you have Bourne's place under watch? I thought I had three-days?"

"You did, but the incident at the Embassy a few hours ago has pushed forward the time-frame you were offered. It's now well and truly off the table. Right of this minute, Abe, it's all about the containment and execution of Jason Bourne."

"If that's the case then I had better inform, Ms Possible, of the change of deadline. I also think it might be prudent to transmit the security footage from Zurich to her as well. It would not serve us if she is caught unprepared because she's holding fast to the memory of her former sidekick's previous abilities. She will have to appreciate that he isn't such a fop anymore." Abe _Man_, then typed in a transmission code and linked it to the File he had received from Langley five minutes earlier and hit the Return Key. "At the very least she'll have some extra viewing _'entertainment'_ to keep her occupied on her flight."

"What do you mean by _'extra'_ entertainment?"

"Oh, just an extra incentive for her to rescue poor dear _Ronnie_ from us big bad Government Type's, that's all." With this, _Man_ surrendered a smirk and disconnected his feed to Virginia, taking a sip of scotch as he did so.

TEN MINUTES EARLIER ON FLIGHT TOWARDS EUROPE.

Betty Director did not know what she found to be most off-putting. The icy-chill of silence coming from the co-pilot seat, or the repeated opening and closing of the flip-top screen. Neither offered her any degree of comfort as she flew the latest and experimental aircraft in the Global Justice arsenal towards Europe. Sure, _'Tranquility Shadow'_ may not have been the most intimidating name, but _'TS' _was a creation of speed and stealth. As such, she could be assured that they would be touching down in Paris in one-tenth of the time that it would take a more conventional Airplane to do and achieve this without any of the French Authorities knowledge.

Yet even that extraordinary _'Time-Saving'_ accomplishment was far too long for Betty to deal with if Kimberly Possible was going to continue in this fashion. Another sad sigh was the last straw for the female-veteran. "For God's Sakes, Possible. It's time to get your _head-in-the-game_ and stop feeling sorry for yourself. What's done is done, an' no amount of ill-placed guilt or recrimination's will change that."

Betty knew that what she had was tantamount of a red-flag being waved in the face of a psychotic Bull. But if she knew anything from her years as leader of some of the manliest-men on the planet, and having to constantly prove her right to lead such specimen's then she knew that sometimes you had to play a role that would be despised by the rank-and-file in order to spur them forward and to focus upon the mission at hand.

The response from Kim was one she was expecting.

"Don't you _dare _tell me how I should be feeling! Do you have any idea what they did to him? What they did to him in my name!? He participated in this … this _'Brain-washing Assassin School'_ of theirs because they led him to believe that I _wanted_ him to be part of it!"

With a shaking finger of pure anger she gestured to the Display Screen she had, for the past half-hour, been watching and pausing, and watching and pausing. Each recorded second an emotional affront against her as she forced herself to observe a detailed report and hidden camera taping of the quality '_Training'_ inflicted upon Ron Stoppable

When _Man_ had presented it to her as she and Dr. Director left the secured office she had taken the gesture upon face-value and saw it as an opportunity to view _'her' Ron_ progress through benign target practice, and hand-to-hand techniques. But instead what she was exposed on that silver compact disc she was handed was something that could only be called torture and/or murder.

Kim Possible had always considered herself well-rounded in the progressive science aspect of the world, it would be hard not being so considering that her mother was a Brain Surgeon, her father a Rocket Scientist, and her brother's and Uncle mechanical geniuses beyond the caliber of any she had ever met. So she was indeed familiar with the arcane approach of the _'Rebirthing Method'_.

_Rebirthing_ was a treatment employed in the late 70's and early 80's by Psychologists who would try to simulate the emergence of their patients from an imaginary womb. The concept was childish and simplistic in its reasoning; the person would escape the confines of a sack or rug feeling as though they had entered the waking-world with a 'fresh-slate' to pass troubled lives. Prepared to begin their new lives without the burden of the old. Over time, however, this method of _spiritual-emotional-and-mental beginning's_ were abandoned by many reputable professionals as the process also promoted within those undertaking the treatment - asthmatic, claustrophobia, panic and heart attacks. But _'Treadstone'_ however, had taken this elaborate hypothesis to a new level of insanity.

Their unique approach was to repeatedly drown Ron. They would forcibly plunge his head into water until he effectively drowned and then they would immediately employ CPR to revive him. She agonizingly watched as the boy she loved with all her heart _died_ twenty times on the screen in front of her. And each time he returned back from the dark place he was sent, by the people he believed she had told him to trust, he was a little less then the person he was before.

With each _'Rebirth'_ he was becoming more broken and more easily manipulated by those in charge around him. Ron wasn't losing himself to the _'Program'_; he was giving himself up to it. If there was indeed a Hell, she thought, then it would only be just that the ones who had subjected this sweetest and gentlest of people to this torment had earned a position there.

The rational commentary of a _Doctor Albert Hirsch_provided her ears a cold and clinical reasoning to this barbary. Subject _RS1_had to accept death and not fear it; he had claimed. Saying that the repeated death-and-revivals had to be instilled within Ron to a subconscious level and not a conscious one that it had been before. This was, in its entirety, the nature of the Treadstone Program, they were making Ron slowly give up everything that held any importance to him. Contact with family, his friends, his own life … her. They were making him a _'blank-slate'_, a clear and clean canvas for their own work and instructions to take form upon it.

With each passing day he was losing his _'Essential Ron-ness'_, to the direction of Hirsch's will. And with each passing clip of footage his hold on this ethereal understanding of who he was was proving more and more difficult.

With Kim's allegation echoing the small cockpit, Betty Director, flipped a switch on her console to 'auto-pilot' and turned to glare at her travel partner with her good and singular eye. "You feel violated? Is this what all this is about? You? That they used your association to Ron to get what they wanted from him? If that is so, then how do you think I feel?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your not the only one they used, you know! They hacked into my personal e-mail account, Possible. And they have been doing it for years. You sent me your request and Report on Ron and they removed it from my 'in-box'. And then they sent you an acceptance letter in my name the next day. Your not the only one sullied here, Kim. Don't you see? Your not alone in your anger and outrage over all this.

"They even used MY name and MY Organization. I didn't even know what you were talking about when you came to my office all those years ago. You asked to be allowed to see Ron and I didn't have a clue what you were talking about. Then you started calling me names and making threats that I had no idea towards the origin of it all was. When you were in Solitary for those two-days cooling down, did you truly think I was just sitting on my hands or was I trying to get to the bottom of your extraordinary behavior and claims?"

With a sudden sense of shame, Kim, turned her head away from her former mentor, but the reflective glass of the cockpit did little to hide the intensity of the 1000-yard stare the lead Global Justice Agent was giving her. Humbly, after a moment, Kim spoke. "But you did find out didn't you."

With her own sad-sigh, Betty, nodded her head in acknowledgement. "Yes, Kim. I did. Once, of coarse, I had a place to start my investigation. That being the date in which you sent your _supposed_ e-mail and of coarse it's destination - my private account. I was able to do some reverse hacking from these points and trace it back to the perpetrators. It took me to the brim of my clearance and nearly burned every contact I had in the epsilons of CIA higher-ups. But yes, Kim, I found him.

"But by that stage it was too late, his training was complete and he was already doing his 'job' on the other side of the Globe. I infact was shown that very disc you are looking at now, so believe me Kim, if you think things will only get better as you continue to watch it, then trust me when I say you will be wrong."

Kim opened the CD-Hatch and removed the offending item, studying it as though it was something putrid and other-worldly. With a heavy tone of surrender she asked aloud, almost fearing the answer to her awaiting question. "Why? What will I see if I continue watching it?"

"You will see his entire world fall apart, that's what Kim. And is that something you really want to see? Are you so caught up in your own righteousness that you are anxious to see him go through that kind of pain?"

"OF COARSE NOT!! I just want to understand what he went through, and maybe then I can reach out and help him."

"Understand?! Help him?! Kim, you won't understand, you'll never understand! Yes, you can emphasize with what he experienced. But understand? Don't kid yourself. Every second of his day was accounted for as being part of some psychological experiment to turn a decent and caring person into a unsympathetic killing machine.

"He was dosed up daily on psychotic's to help make the various subliminal _'education'_he received as he slept more effective. He lived in an enviroment of violence and extreme education. Whatever was decided as nonsence and unnecessary was cast out of his recollection and replaced with more appropiae knowledge to kill and escape any form of capture. He was lied too and teased with hope and then he had it all wrenched from his grasp. How can you truly understand how that was like for him, Possible, if you have never experienced what he had too?"

With this rebuke, Kim Possible, closed her eyes and tried to force herself not to cry at the harshness of the words directed at her.

"The one hope he had during his _Treadstone Training_ was you, Kim. And in the end, as far as he believes, it was you who let him down and betrayed him."

With this statement a fire returned to Kim's eyes. "I would never betray him!"

Picking up the disc from the consol where Kim had placed it between them, Betty Director brandished it in the face of Kim Possible like a trophy, speaking to her former protégé with a stony tone of indifference towards what she was going to impart. "Wrong, Kimberly, you did. But not in the way you think I mean it.

"As the _Treadstone Program_ progressed, the Doctor's and the Psychiatrists accepted that Ron still continued to hold out that when this nightmare of his was all over that the two of you would be together again. That was never ever going to be, Kim. But to discourage this belief would have sabotaged his focus on meeting all expectations placed upon him. So they instead offered him a reward, an enticement for whatever achievements he made – You."

"M…me?!"

"Yes, for ten-minutes each Saturday, Ron was allowed to speak to you via a telephone link-up between New York and Oxford, England."

"How? Wait … t..th ... that's a lie. We never, I never …"

Betty shock her head and offered an explanation. "Of coarse you didn't. They employed a Voice-Actress. You know, the ones who do voice-over's and cartoon characters. Ones who could not only work from a script but could also do improvisation without the desire to ask any questions to what they were doing. With the number of telivised and radio interviews you've done over the years you did nothing but provide them with ample material to work with on your speech content, sentence formation and exccentricities of tone and manner. They eventually found someone to vocally impersonate you with perfect competence during Ron's prized ten-minutes-a-week-telephone-access. The Character Report on Ron that you inadvertently provided _Treadstone_ was key in settling any and all his suspicions towards that person's authenticity as she would offer private information that only the two of you knew about. Ron was told that if he did well in his training, he got his 10-minutes telling you various sweet-nothings and being told the same by an actress on the other end of the extension."

"But … "

Betty did not pause to allow Kim to interject on something so important, she knew if she did not expose the harsh truth then it was doubtful that she would find the courage in herself to do so later.

" But eventually they needed it all too stop. _Treadstone_ had to severe that umbilical cord between you and Ron if their ultimate aim was to be accomplished. And to do this they needed him to descend to a place where hopelessness was all that existed for him. They needed him to embrace a new and lonely life away from the ties he had formerly created. Basically, Kim, they wanted him to willingly abandon all his positive emotions and become what they wanted him to be - a mindless soldier. Someone who followed orders and not care about the morality of the Mission he was asked to undertake.

"So on one of his last Saturday night's with the Project, he was connected once more through to _'you'_. Only this time it was to be different from the standard _'I-love-and-miss-you'_ talks you shared with him. Instead, your other-self, told him that you were engaged and that you had been working up the courage these past couple of months to break the news to him. _'You'_ said that though you still cared and loved him, that you had for the past few months been unfaithful with a fellow Oxford Student called Derek. I suspect that they used _'Derek'_ as an extension of the name _'Erik'_ so that he could more easily identify with this _betrayal_both mentally, emotionally and visually in association with his previous heartache at your hands with the Synthodrone 901.

"Your other self told him that it had all started out as nothing less then a curiosity and then pure sex. Mainly because you had missed missed him so much and simply needed the company this 'Derek' offered to get through the lonliness of the nights and seperation from her family. But several weeks earlier, after a Regatta, the two of you got carried away after a party and had unprotected sex. The result was that _'you'_were now pregnant to Derek and that in order for you to give the child a name and a father, the two of you were going to get married before the pregnancy started to show on you. You concluded the telephone call by assuring Ron that as first official boyfriends went that he was the best because he was both servile, unintimidating or sexually aggressive. And that he had provided you with the security she needed after her embarrassment with the the Diablo Affair, allowing her the opportunity to work out what she really wanted in a boyfriend.

"You again thanked him, but said that life and people move on in time as they grow up and that though you were sorry if you had hurt him emotionally, 'she' meaning you, needed a husband who was a _'real man'_ and not a _'best friend'_ who was still trying to find their place in the World."

Kim opened her mouth, but no words exited. Her vision became blurry as tears began to pool around her eyes.

"After she hung-up on him he returned back to his room. He then snapped the plastic covering of his disposable razor off and then slashed his wrists with the exposed blade. It was exactly what _Treadstone_ was hoping and expecting him to do. They had his room and telephone _'conversations'_ under surveillance the entire time. So if you had kept watching the Compact Disc then you would have seen and heard it all. And to be honest Kim, if you had then no matter how strong of a person you think you are, you would never have recovered from it

"The bastards even waited until he bled to the point of becoming unconsciousness. Only then did they enter his room in order to take him to the infirmary. It was whilst he was there, under induced unconsciousness, that they patched up his wrists and began the subtle plastic surgery needed to change his visual presentation. They then kept him fully-sedated around the clock for three-week straight, feeding and hydrating him through IV lines and nasal gastric tubes.

"When his new _'face'_ was 100-percent healed and ready, they removed him from his medically induced coma. Confronting him with a mirror of a face he did not recognise as him. Seeing himself anew, wearing features in his reflection that were not him, was the final straw that broke the camel's back. His psyche couldn't handle it. The choice was then presented to him, though to be honest with you Kim, given how much of everything in his life those past 5-months had been manipulated and guided towards this outcome; it can hardly be called a choice, can it? He could have resisted everything that was done to him and probably end up going insane, or he could just go with the flow and start fresh with a new identity and new purpose in life.

"You denying his love for you, cheating on him, getting pregnant to another person and marrying said person was the deciding factor between him being the _weak-flexible-devil-may-care-_Ron Stoppable and the _get-in-the-way-of-my-objective-and-I-will-send-you-to-God-_Jason Bourne."

This news was too much for her to take, as much as Kim didn't want to look like a 'girl' in front of someone she used to respect highly, she still could not help herself. She buried her head into her arms and leaned forward onto the console in front of her. If the _'TS'_ was not on auto-pilot then she most likely would have sent herself and Betty Director to their deaths from the number of buttons and switches she had just interfered with as she began to sob uncontrollably.

How could she possibly recover any level of relationship with Ron if he had been subjected to such elaborate deceit? All the Ad Campaign's by the Senior's towards searching for any information on Ron Stoppable had been pointless, because Ron now no-longer existed in Jason Bourne's mind. If it wasn't Mission-related, then the character of _Jason Bourne_ was not interested in it. Relationships, news, politics, friendships and family were all effectively dead to him.

_Treadstone_had turned him into a World-class Assassin, and this was the only identity that he allowed himself to be defined as now. And on some awful level, Kim had to also now acknowledge that as a result of this manipulation that Ron was now a hundred times worse then all of the assorted Freaks she used to beat down on when she was a teenager. At least Monkey Fist, Duff Killigan, Shego were all driven by some emotion, even if it was a passionate hatred. Regardless of the evil the had in their souls, this was still a preferable evil too fighting someone who void of feeling. Anything that was _Ron-Stoppable-related_ was a painful memory to him now, as such how will she be able to get him back when the wall he had built around himself for the last several years were constructed so high and thick?

Kim Possible didn't get the chance to answer this inner question, if she ever could.

Besides her right-elbow on the console an incoming message blinked upon the screen. With her acknowledgement upon the _'Incoming Message Icon'_ a file began to download itself. The accompanying message carried a CIA insignia at the top that she was now quickly becoming to loath with every fiber of her soul. The words that followed under that hated insignia provided her with an equal feeling of dread. It seemed that _Mr. Man_ had gone back on his word and informed her that the three-day deadline was now rescinded.

In visible frustration of Betty Director, who had been listening to her as she read out the letter sent, she then accessed the now downloaded file to see if it offered her any explanation to the change of policy by the CIA big-wigs towards her bringing 'Ron' back into the fold, so to speak.

Kim's eyes widened and her heart froze to the vision of the running image now upon her screen. Not a single move was wasted by the assailant in the transmission-feed. The connecting blows, by the man standing center, were crisp and as close to perfect as anything could be in a fight. And in less time then it took to take a breath, from the start of the security clip to the finish of it, he had laid unconscious three-armed men wearing military uniforms and had wrenched from the possession of one of them a Glock 10mm. It was only then that the 'stranger's' movements, after the scuffle, slowed to the point that a less fuzzed image revealed itself to her broad green-eyes.

She had to now repeatedly tell herself over and over again in her mind that this wasn't Ron anymore. Who she was looking on the screen now was Jason Bourne: Assassin … _murderer._ And as she made this clarification to her inner-self, something equally troubling arose within her - If he was no longer Ron, and if he was now all but a betrayal of all the beautiful things her _'Ron'_ previously was and is forever to her. If this man is as much a stranger to her then any other she would meet along an unknown street, then why, oh why, was her core painfully aching for him to do nothing but hold and kiss her?

TBC??

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	3. Chapter 3

As soon as Kim had disembarked from _Tranquility's Shadow_, Betty Director gave her firm directions to report, immediately, to Treadstone's Paris Liaison Officer. As this officer had been 'Jason's' primary mission contact until the previous week, she was the only practical starting point for Kim to commence her search for who was now the most wanted man in Europe.

Kim hated the idea of wasting valuable time 'checking in' with this Nicky Parsons, but she knew that it was the only way to obtain any perspective on Ron's, ala Jason's recent actions. Nicky was the only available person who had any clue as to the what's and why's behind his behavior. Therefore, Kim would play this cloak-and-dagger game by the CIA's rules, at least until she could place herself in a position to force them to play by hers.

As she relaxed in the taxicab, in route to her rendezvous, she devoted steady, serious thoughts to the advice Betty Director had given her, as they flew over the North Atlantic. Organized thoughts weren't easy to maintain, as they had to compete with the misery and guilt churning within her. Yet Betty had been right, she had to push the motions aside, get her head in the game, and deal with this assignment with impersonal detachment. More than Ron's life was at stake.

Ron and _Jason_ were now opposing sides of the same coin. Due to Treadstone/Blackbriar's psychological manipulations, this dual entity probably viewed her as something lower than slime. She understood this, but despite her soul's uneasiness over Ron's undoubtedly uncharitable opinion of her, that same soul was now soaring higher than it had in over five years. For the first time since Ron had vanished, she had hope. She didn't have a dream, inkling, or a naïve desire. After all these dark years, she had the undeniable proof that Ron hadn't been dumped in an unmarked grave in some nameless part of the world.

The real trick would be to keep both her and Ron out of such a grave for the foreseeable future. She harbored no illusions that even **if** she brought Ron/Jason safely back to the CIA, **and** he was able to provide a reasonable explanation for his recent actions, that either of them would avoid execution. She and Ron were as good as dead regardless of what _Man_ had told her. She was an outsider … a _civilian_ who was now privy to the existence of a special unit within the CIA. This unit, which the United States Government probably hadn't realized it had sanctioned, had placed operatives, illegally, on foreign soil for the sole purpose of murdering anybody that the unit deemed necessary.

She was now as much a liability to Treadstone's existence as Ron was. Fortunately, Treadstone needed her alive, at least for the moment, so that she could execute the task they had manipulated her into accepting. At this moment, just as it had been for most of her life, her fate was entwined with Ron's and she hoped it would remain so for the rest of her life.

Yet the moment he was taken 'out-of-the-picture' would most likely be the same moment that some faceless entity would issue a command to 'liquidate' her, as well. Until this time, she needed to convince them that she was unaware of her danger and was working in ignorance of their final plan for her and Ron.

It was as this thought cemented itself in her strategy that the driver pulled over to the curb and gestured that they had reached the café she had requested. With a grateful smile and a generous tip, for not being one of those annoying cabbies that felt the need to yammer as he drove his vehicle, Kim Possible - former teen heroine, stepped out on the sidewalk and started her most important mission to date.

It was a perfect Paris morning, people were making their way to work and there was a definite crisp sensation in the air that made her wish she had worn a coat and gloves. She walked towards the café, trying to identify 'Nicky' from the small crowd of people sitting at the scattered tables and sipping espressos. Her green eyes eventually centered upon a 30-something woman in a dark business suit, reading a USA Today newspaper. This woman seemed the most likely of the candidates present. As she had no time to waste in her effort to find Ron before one of Treadstone's assassins, she decided that a direct approach would be the best. She had no intention of using some secret password or phrase code words, such as: _'The blind man only jumps when it rains chocolate'_ crap she had seen in old spy movies while she was growing up. As she approached her intended target, an attractive 25-year old blonde woman, who gave off a very direct and sophisticated vibe despite her young age, blocked her path.

"How long has it been since you've welcomed Jesus into your life?" The woman asked, after the two of them made brief eye contact. The woman's pitch had been so low and subtle that only Kim could easily hear her.

For a moment, Kim was distracted by this strange woman's equally strange manner. What kind of question was that to ask a stranger? Then it occurred to her that the woman had spoken in English and not French. Kim hadn't spoken since leaving the cab, so how did this woman know that she spoke English?

"I… I'm sorry. What did you say?"

"Oh no, the mistake is mine. I'm sorry. I thought you looked as though you had been _Bourne_-again."

Sure, it may not have been the whole _'Blind man and chocolate'_ thing but the meaning and intention of these words were very clear to her.

"Indeed I have," Kim responded. "And have you _tread_ upon the _stone_ of redemption?"

The woman offered Kim a tight and '_only-for-show'_ smile as she removed her leather satchel from the only other chair at her small table. "Some days I feel more righteous then others," She offered. "Hello, my name is Nicky Parsons. I believe you would rather speak to me than the drag-queen two tables behind me."

Nicky did not bother extending her hand. Instead she sat down and waited for Kim to do the same on the seat she had just made available.

Kim took a moment to focus her vision on her previous target and noted the Adam's Apple on 'her' throat. Embarrassed, she took the proffered seat while reminding herself that she was, indeed, now in Europe. Doing her best to not appear suspicious to the small crowd surrounding them, she leaned halfway across the chasm separating her from Nicky.

Kim did not know exactly what this woman knew and she wasn't about to advertise her own knowledge but it was clear from Parson's present manner that she saw Kim as an intruder on an internal 'Company' problem.

"I was told to check in with you and that you might be able to offer me some direction in my expedition to find Jason Bourne." Kim didn't have time for subtlety.

Opening up her satchel, the blonde removed two passports, both with Kim's photograph. One had her own name and the other had been issued to '_Tiffany Meadows_'. She placed these passports, along with a yellowish envelope, on the tiny table

"As of this moment you are traveling under the name of Tiffany," Nicky informed her. "When you make contact with your target, you will discard the Meadows passport and use Possible's as soon as it is convenient. As soon as 'Possible' shows up on any network, we will deploy assets to retrieve both you and Bourne. Any questions so far? No? Good. This envelope contains three thousand Euros, in varying denominations. This should be enough to cover any travel and accommodation expenses for the next two days. The envelope also contains a key, an address and a telephone number. The address is for Bourne's apartment and the key will give you access to his apartment and his building's front door. The telephone number, however, is to my apartment here in Paris. You are to make contact with me at least twice a day so that I can both keep abreast of your progress and fill you in on any developments related to your mission. Do you have any questions, or need me to clarify any of these instructions?"

Kim had to concentrate to avoid rolling her eyes. The telephone number was obviously intended to track her; she had no doubt that any calls to that particular number would be traced immediately. Yet it wouldn't do to let 'Nicky' in on her suspicions, so she decided to concentrate on this meeting's official purpose. She needed to delve deeper into what Nicky knew about Jason and his possible motivation for breaking contact with his 'superiors' in Virginia.

"Yes, what can you tell me about Jason Bourne?" She asked. "From what I understand, this 'silence' and independent action is out of character. Did you notice any precursor that might have triggered his desire to disappear?"

"Are you asking me if he shared his personal thoughts and plans with me?"

"Well, yeah, you are his _Primary_ here, aren't you?" Kim responded. "Isn't it your job to monitor both his professional and his personal motivations? My briefing indicated that if anyone was capable of spotting anything out of the ordinary with him, it would by you." Kim leaned back slightly. "Or did you just miss something?"

Nicky Parsons leaned back in her metal rimmed chair and studied Kim for a moment. "Bourne doesn't confide in anyone, especially a woman; any woman. Believe me, I tried." Her voice was devoid of all professional detachment.

Kim stiffened in her seat; she did not especially like the way that sounded. "You tried?" She asked. "Did you 'try' as a method of exerting additional control, or did you 'try' as a young woman?" Kim cursed herself inwardly at the edge she had allowed to form around each of her words.

"A bit of both," Nicky admitted. "It's not exactly a secret, but when Jason was assigned to Paris, I was advanced to oversee his operations here. I was 21, ambitious and eager to do an excellent job, one that would get me noticed by Langley for reasons other then my competent fact-checking and computer work. It was my responsibility to monitor our agent's private and professional behavior. The last thing we needed was someone with one of these assets' training and capability suddenly 'going postal' after a few missions."

"Bourne, however, didn't open up to me," she continued. "He was distrustful of my contributions from the beginning. At first I thought it was because of his training at Treadstone, but after awhile it became clear to me that it because of my gender and not my association to the Agency."

Kim couldn't help but let her brow crinkle in surprise to this strange prejudice. "A woman?" She asked. "Are you saying they … they made him … gay?!"

"No, believe me he wasn't…**isn't** gay," Nicky smirked, suppressing a laugh at Kim's surprising question. "He's just gun-shy. I think that his detachment from females was, or is, more emotional than intentional. I didn't have access to all of his records, so his life and actions prior to 'The Program' are unknown to me. From what I've heard over the years, I'm very grateful for my ignorance. I suspect that a woman hurt Bourne deeply, so deeply and so troubling that he can't look upon any woman without remembering her and what she did to him."

"This may sound melodramatic and soap-operary," she continued. "But I saw it as part of my duty to remove any obstacles that could impede his judgment whilst on assignments. Therefore, I considered it my job to help him overcome this bias. I was…unprofessional in my approach and I have been…sanctioned for this misconduct."

Kim shifted uneasily, but refused to give voice to the angry thoughts now in her mind.

"Initially I tried to spend as much time with him as possible," Nicky explained. "I wanted to break down his barriers, at least those that affected me. It started out all genuine and innocent, with no ulterior motive for what was to eventually come between us. I believed that I needed to know his center in order to be a reliable arbiter, just in the event that his behaviors began to differ from his norm. I would then be able to quickly recognize changes in his mood and be able to intervene before things progressed beyond a manageable level. Over the weeks and months that followed, things started to happen between us that were not part of my job description, but things I wanted to happen anyway."

Kim's teeth clenched, but fortunately her lips were successfully covering the pearls of stressed white. "Exactly what **things** are we talking about?" She demanded.

"Listen, Ms Possible, this is embarrassing and very personal for me," Nicky considered. "And I don't see how they have any bearing on what has happened with him now. We broke it all off, years ago, and by HIS choice I might add. It holds no relevance."

Kim worked hard to remain detached, but the competitive fury of her 'Kim-ness' was starting to reveal itself in her presentation. Her 'Kim-ness', laced with a healthy dose of 'jeallin', made for an explosive situation.

"Ms Parsons," she grated in the most professional tone she could manage. "I am not sure if you are aware of this, but I was specifically bought in on this operation because I might be able to offer a perspective which could lead to finding this man. It's not important that you see the purpose to my questions, but rather that you answer them. Rest assured, the last thing I want is for you to go into detail and draw me diagrams. Believe me. I just need to … to understand what makes my quarry tick, that's all. Now please answer my question."

Nicky Parsons surrendered a sigh and a disbelieving shake of her head. "Ms Possible, you have just made your first, biggest and stupidest mistake since you decided to accept this mission. That mistake is placing Jason Bourne in the role of your prey. He is nobody's _'Prey'_; he is the _'Predator'_. Keep this in mind and you might just survive your confrontation with him."

"The last thing you should ever do is underestimate this man," she expanded. "Of all those who hold an active status in Treadstone 71, he is by far the best at what he does, and the reason he's the best is that he gave up caring whatever happened to him a life-time ago. THAT is why things stopped between us, I wanted something more then what he was ever prepared to give anyone. I was a _'physical-distraction'_ to him, nothing more, nothing less. We never talked outside of the parameters of our 'jobs', it was all business and foreplay."

Kim's hands clinched into fists under the table, but again she remained silent, forcing herself to hear words she was now wishing she hadn't encouraged.

"I would like to say, just once, that we 'made love'," Parsons explained. "Christ, I wish I could say that we had sex, but I can't honestly explain it with those terms. What we did, Ms Possible, was mate. Is that what you want to know? Does that help give you a better understanding of your 'quarry', Ms Possible?! Because as coarse and as tacky as it sounds, that's exactly what we did. Sure, there were moments when his mask slipped a bit and he showed me some glimmer of tenderness whilst we were _'in-the-motions'_. I wouldn't have continued to be his bedmate for as long as I did if I didn't think I was making some form of progress where his mind and heart was concerned. But for the most part, Ms Possible, all I earned between his sheets was his contempt for simply being there for him."

"But in honesty, I don't think it was me he hated," she continued. "As strange as it might sound, I think he actually hates IT. Sex, I mean. Which is a pity, because though it always lacked that level of warmth I craved, it was still pretty intense and amazing. I don't know, but I think that he viewed intercourse as a …a retribution of some kind. Perhaps it was a way of getting back at somebody. In the end, even though he called in quits, I think I saw more of the real 'him' during his 'it's not you it's me' speech he gave me than anybody's ever seen since he completed his training."

"I think he knew this ghost of his would always be there in the bed with us, and some part of him, some moral and decent part of him, thought that this was unfair to me. At least, that's what I chose to believe."

"I submitted my name for re-assignment to another operative," she concluded. "I offered grounds of sexual inappropriateness and conduct unbecoming an agent as a motivator for the change. I received a formal disciplining, but as Jason refused to make a complaint and because he was seen as the _'Golden-Go-To-Child'_ of Treadstone, the higher-ups didn't want to disrupt the winning team. I kind of suspect that after everything was said and done that they all high-fived one another. The Agency is, after all, still very much a 'good old boys club' and I think that the emotional degradation of me continuing to oversee Jason's activities amused them. Speaking to him on the telephone and handing him his assignments without being able to talk about our past relationship was a worse punishment than any blotch on my record or 6-month pay decrease could ever be. But Jason is…well, he's Jason. He went right back to being his same indifferent and guarded self and resumed his life in the manner he chose to live it, alone."

Kim now found herself experiencing a sudden bout of nausea. She didn't know if it was from the jetlag, the stress of her discovery or from the blunt and candid view of Ms Parson's personal life with Ron. All that she was sure of was her desire to lie down. As though reading her mind and interpreting her physical state correctly, Nicky poured a glass of water from a pitcher that was present upon the table.

"Long distance travel usually catches up with me within the first hour of landing as well."

Hesitantly, Kim Possible accepted the humble offering without saying a word. How could she say anything? At the moment, her emotions could easily betray her. Ron had sex with another woman. This really shouldn't have been a surprise, she herself had taken sexual partners over the past seven years. After all, both she and Ron were young adults and prone to certain biological tensions. There were other similarities between her ventures and his; the lovers she had taken were as much a distraction from her loneliness as Nicky had apparently been for Ron, and neither her nor Ron had managed to create something lasting out of such liaisons. The difference, however, was both subtle and profound.

When she had turned to intimate means to combat her loneliness, both her sorrow and true, tender thoughts towards the men that she had chosen to share herself with had guided her actions. Ron's actions, however, were defined in darkness. He had taken his carnal pleasures as an extension of his hate; his hate against her. Did he despise her so much that he would now take a lover out of spite, rather than love?

For the last several hours she had been telling herself that Jason Bourne was a convincing act, a character Ron had created to distance his kind, gentle persona from his harsh, current reality. It had been a reasonable conclusion. After the deceits and abuse Treadstone had inflicted upon him, Ron would have seen himself as weak, a walking punch line in a world full of indifferent tormentors. 'Jason,' on the other hand, was the representation of every macho stereotype he had ever exposed himself to as he was growing up. 'Jason Bourne' was the lone-wolf hero, the violent, silent guardian of the American people. He was the US Government's stoic garbage man who would never again allow himself to become emotionally vulnerable to another.

He was, in fact, the very epitome of Jack Nicholson's character's '_A_ _Few Good Men'_. Even now, with all the craziness surrounding her, she could clearly remember the pride Colonel Jessop showed on the witness stand as he challenged Tom Cruise's character.

_"Son, we live in a world with walls that must be guarded. Who's gonna do it, you? I have more responsibly than you can ever fathom … And my existence, though grotesque to you, saves lives! But deep down, in places you don't talk about at parties – you need me on that wall! You WANT me on that wall! We use words like honor, code, and loyalty. They're the backbone of our lives, but to you they are just a punch line to some joke, and I haven't the time or inclination to explain myself to a man who needs MY protection and still questions the manner in which I provide it. Better to just say - 'Thank you and good day' or pick up a gun and stand your post."_

She did not know why this scene had begun to play in her head. She certainly could never justify Jessop's skewed impartiality to 'Code Reds', and given Ron's experience with bullies, she knew he couldn't, either. But something told her that _Jason Bourne_ could and would.

_Jason Bourne_ was the anti-Ron.

He was self-created to be the opposite of everything Ron had come to despise in himself. Jason Bourne was detached and needed nobody to justify his existence. Whether he killed or died, he would do either without emotion or hesitation. When emotion started to rise up in some small level of affection for his teammate, he chose to destroy that affection rather than let it grow into something…wonderful. Treadstone's manipulation made him prefer a loveless existence to one surrounded with happiness, and vulnerability.

She knew that she was blameless in pushing him over the edge; that it had been a convincing voice actress who had performed this action. Yet she still felt shame knowing that it was his love for her that Treadstone had used as a whip, causing him to create this heartless 'Hyde' counterpart to Ron's kind 'Jekyll' when that love was betrayed. She fought back tears when she realized that he considered **her** the reason that he should never, would never, open his heart again.

"Are you alright, Ms Possible?" Nicky inquired. "How about taking some deep breaths? That sometimes does the trick."

Nicky Parson's voice contained a surprisingly comforting tone, something that was very difficult for Kim to accept since just moments earlier this woman had been talking about the torrid affair she had had with HER boyfriend. This was actually more than surprising, this was cruel; pure cruelty of the first order, waaaay beyond 'sick and wrong' or even wrong-sick. This was perverse.

What had she said? _'It's not exactly a secret…'_

Parsons had been disciplined, formally, for having an inappropriate relationship with R- Jason. This disciplinary action, and the relationship that triggered it, had to be recorded in Nicky's service file, available to her superiors within Treadstone. In addition, Betty had told Kim to meet with Nicky, specifically to enquire into Jason's personal life.

They **HAD KNOWN** what Nicky was going to tell her and they **HAD KNOWN**, when 'Man' gave her that CD back in Middleton, that she would most likely watch it on the flight. Dr. Director had all but removed the disc from her notebook and tactfully narrated the later events, rather than allowing Kim to view them. Even so, the verbal description of those events was almost more that her sanity could withstand.

What had 'Man' said? That the Treadstone Project was all about conditioning and manipulating people's perceptions and realities, in order to make them do things that they did not think they were capable of doing.

She had been given…what she had been given, prior to the flight and had been urged to watch it. She had then been directed to sit down and delve into Jason's personal life, with a woman who had 'been involved' with him…A sudden realization, bordering on an epiphany of anger, burst into her awareness. _Vulnerability followed by a sense of betrayal_.

What would _'The Company'_ have known about her relationship with Ron? Anything that Global Justice had known, for starters. They would have known that he was her best friend since before Kindergarten. They would have known that he was the only person she had ever loved with her whole heart, every fiber of her being. They would have known that he had been her fiancé in all but name. They would have known that she continued to yearn for him even years after she had believed him to be dead. Now they had shown her what her innocent email had put Ron through, before deliberately introducing her to his former bed-partner. They had rubbed her nose in the fact that for years, she had been crying and stressing in Middleton while he was not only alive, but having carnal relations in the world's most romantic city. What had Shakespeare said? 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.' She was forced to remember the intensity of her Moodulator experience, that when that thing had clicked into 'hate,' her rage had been something murderous and irrational. She also remembered how single minded her vendetta had been.

Treadstone had pushed Ron over the edge, turning him into Jason Bourne, with a combination of hurt, confusion and betrayal. Now they were hammering her with a series of traumatic, emotional blows; never affording her the opportunity to regain her equilibrium. She had thought that they were covering all of their bases in their search for him, by enlisting her in the quest. Now, she suspected that they were attempting to place a viper near his heart; the one person that might pull enough of 'Ron' out of the cold-blooded killer 'Jason' to let her get close to him.

Was she being set up?

Normally, she would laugh off such paranoid fantasies, but what about this situation? She had already concluded that her life was forfeit once she, or anybody else, found Ron. How could she trust people who had already proven to be so untrustworthy? She felt like a marionette, dancing to the insane whims of an unseen puppeteer. Was this how Ron had felt? Was this why he had broken contact with Treadstone? Was this why Treadstone feared him so much that they wanted 'their asset' dead? If Jason Bourne could find enough of Ron Stoppable inside himself to realize what he had become and cut his own strings, what was keeping other Treadstone 'subjects' from doing the same? Had Jason Bourne become a walking, talking, breathing precedent?

Kim knew that once somebody set a precedent, others were sure to follow. If Jason shook off his conditioning, it would only be a matter of time before another would claim the same right of self-determination. The only way that Treadstone could continue to control their stable of professional killers would be to make an example of Jason Bourne; to show everyone associated with this program, the price of trying to find the exit.

Kimberly Anne Possible squared herself in her seat and accepted her greater mission. While she had to save Ron for their friendship and love, she also had to save him to prove to these faceless men that they had no right to steal the lives from others. Their days of playing God with the fate of others, asset or target, were numbered!

With a fresh sense of fierce determination filling her, Kim raised her green eyes to lock with Nicky's blue orbs. Her 'Kim-ness' urged her to howl out her hatred for everything this woman represented, but she steeled her will against that base urge. The rational Kim, the patient Kim, the Kim that always gave everyone a chance wouldn't allow her petty jealousy to prevail. Yet there was inner agreement as well as inner turmoil. Every aspect of her being was unanimous on one point: Treadstone must suffer for destroying so many lives.

"Nicky, I want to thank you for your time and for revealing details which were very painful for you to recall," she told her companion. "I want you to know that I took no pleasure in hearing of your personal connection to Jason Bourne. I also want to assure you that your discomfort served a purpose. It revealed an insight on the man I have been tasked to bring in."

"Really? What insight is that?" Nicky's expression showed guarded curiosity.

"That he **is** a man," Kim replied. "He can surround himself with death and other macho BS but somewhere, deep in his soul, he's still a man of morals. Don't you see it? His relationship with you wasn't just about the sex, it wasn't just about relieving some tensions. If that's all he wanted, he could have hired a prostitute or picked someone up at a bar. I believe that, despite everything, there was some part of Jason that truly cared about you. If that part of him came to the surface once, it can come to the surface again."

"Ms Possible, it sounds like you're thinking about …rescuing him rather than retrieving him."

Kim's eyes hardened at the terms Nicky had used. This woman surely knew what Jason's fate would be, once he had been 'retrieved.' How could anyone be so indifferent to her former lover's fate? Her fledgling, positive opinion about Nicky vanished.

Nicky Parsons met Kim's glare and refused to back down. Did this outsider think that she would wither under her stare? She lived in a world of assassins and covert operations, where she checked for a 'shadow' a half-dozen times every day, before walking into her office in the morning. Jason was a part of **her** world, not Possible's. Despite what this outsider thought she knew; she just couldn't grasp the code under which such people lived. For Jason, it was all about honor and conditioning. If he had a choice between capture and death, he would choose death, while taking as many of his would-be captors along for the ride as he could. Jason had worked out, long ago, that he wouldn't die a peaceful death in his old age and this realization took away all fear of the Grim Reaper. Jason would meet his fate with no regrets and no apologies to the God and Heaven that he had quit believing in so long ago. Nicky Parsons folded her arms in front of her and wondered if Ms Possible was idealistic, foolish, or naïve. Maybe she was all three.

Kim sat there, locking eyes with Nicky. She had to admit that she wasn't good at reading another person's character. She was too much a believer in the inherent 'goodness' of her fellow man to master this skill. Part of the problem was her upbringing. The eldest child of a brain surgeon and a rocket scientist, he had lived a life of privilege, plenty, support and success. As such, she couldn't grasp the desperation, cruelty, and resignation that caused so many of humankind's darker actions. What she could tell about Nicky, however, was how childish and arrogant this other woman considered her beliefs.

Kim was now forced to wonder if Ro…_Jason_ would have the same expression when she asked him to step away from the false life he had been living for the last seven years. Was it a false life? Who was she to judge which life, Ron's or Jason's, was false and should be abandoned? Wasn't that Treadstone reasoning, to determine the course of another's life to benefit yourself? The Ron Stoppable she had known would have been repulsed at the concept of murder for political expediency, but he had still surrendered himself to these people. Of course, he hadn't known what he was joining. He had thought that he was going to become something better than he was, something (and here she flinched inside) worthy of a 'happily ever after,' with her. As such, she owed Ron Stoppable a clear and honest choice between his old life and the life of Jason Bourne.

Her internal dialogue have her a clear course of action for the first time since meeting 'Man.' She would pull Jason to a place of safety, where she could help Ron to emerge once again. At that point, the choice would be Ron's: To return to the violent, hunted life of Jason Bourne or to resume his life as Ron Stoppable. No matter his choice, no matter his actions, she would not give up on him. She would not back down even in the face of his own murderous nature. She would find the connection with Ron, just as Nicky had done. The only difference would be that once she found him, she would not let him slip away again. If she could bring the man she loved back from the darkness he had hidden inside, then they could face the wrath of Treadstone together. It was up to her to give Ron a true choice, free of manipulation and deceit.

Coming back to the present, Kim saw that she and Nicky continued to evaluate each other. Both saw something that they both scorned and admired in the other. Kim saw in Nicky a person who could thrive; even among the _'Old Boys Club'_ she claimed to resent, by knowing when to challenge and when to comply with the powers that controlled her. However, she had discarded much of her humanity along the way. She now viewed people, human beings, as simple assets to be acquired and expended during the execution of her duties. She didn't care about the people her 'agents' eliminated and she was ready to hang Jason out to dry, scant months after having an affair with the man.

Nicky eyed Kim and saw a woman who was not accustomed to giving up, even on a lost cause. She saw a reckless defiance that was out of place for the shadow-world she had chosen to enter.

"Do you really think that you can pull him out, that his owners' will allow him to walk away?" A little bit of decency forced Nicky to try to warn this woman.

"You love using those terms, don't you?" Kim asked, clenching her jaw so tightly that she could feel the pain in the roots of her teeth. "_Asset, liability, retrieve, recover_: they help you depersonalize what you're really thinking, what you're really doing. Jason Bourne isn't an entry in some bookkeeper's ledger; he's a living, breathing person. He may not be a good person, but I also know that he isn't a bad person either. What he needs is someone to reach out their hand and pull him back to the good person he used to be, even if he tries to bite that hand."

"And you think you can be that person?" Nicky completed Kim's thought. "Well, let me tell you something, Ms Possible. As charming as your confidence is, you're in something a lot worse than the real world right now. This isn't Euro-Disneyland. So forget what you _**think**_ you're facing and listen to someone who _**knows**_ what you're facing."

"Treadstone assigns a codename to every such operative that survives _the Program_ to conduct field work. Not only does employment of this codename keep our conversations more secure; it also gives each of us handlers a little insight into what we're dealing with. We have _'The Professor'_ in Madrid_, 'The Banker'_ in Berlin and _'The Choirboy'_ in Rome. Do you know what Jason's codename is? It's _'Medusa.'_ Do you want to know why? Why, when they could have assigned any number of innocent names, they chose that one? It's because once you're in his sight, you're stone cold dead! Do you really think that you can reason with someone like that? Do you really think that someone like this is even going to be interested in you trying to save him from himself? He'll see this naivety action of yours as either a weakness or a ploy. Do you truly think he would be foolish enough to make himself vulnerable to either? What he's going to see, Ms Possible, is someone who is trying to take him down. And trust me, he'll act accordingly and decicively."

Kim was close to loosing her composure. All she wanted was to track down Ron while this…Agent was urging her to cut her losses and treat Ron as a lost cause. The very thought sickened her, but it gave her an idea. Nicky viewed Ron as a commodity, something to be employed, used, and discarded when needed. It was time to treat Nicky the same way. Anything she told the younger woman would find its way to the higher levels of Treadstone, hopefully to those who were calling the shots. If she could relate a naïve hope, a believable but incorrect naïve hope, Treadstone may be deceived.

"Yes, Ms Parsons, I believe I can save him from himself," Kim declared, after taking a deep breath and collecting her thoughts. "I thank you for your time and for the information you have shared. I assure you that I will hold all of your revelations in the strictest confidence. And I can see that you're still very much concerned about me and my thoughts upon how I shall proceed. So I'll tell you why I'm doing this before you see fit to waste more of my time and yours in an effort to protect me."

"You see, Ms Parsons, you and I are polar opposites, as far as Jason's concerned," Kim continued, standing up and sweeping her hand across the table and collecting the items Nicky had placed there. "You told me that you were thankful to not know who Jason was before Treadstone. I, however, knew him then. I knew his quality as a person, and even though I have no desire to know him now, I'll force myself to do it for his sake. You said earlier that you craved warmth and affection from him, both of which he was unable to provide to you. But I, once upon a time, had that warmth and affection from him."

"You consider me a naïve and foolish woman," she now stated, fixing the blonde with a hard glare. "This may be so, but I chose to be such for a reason. I'm not the kind of person who wants to cut my losses; I want him back : Period! I have a deal with your superiors, Ms Parsons, based on mutual self-interest. And although they didn't tell me this, it's easy to see that they have a problem with Jason remaining alive."

But I assure you, if they attempt to _'liquidate'_ Jason Bourne, the actions could be noisy, messy, and costly for them. The last thing that Treadstone wants is the French Police investigating the aftermath of a confrontation between multiple agents and believe me from what you have told me about this man it is clear that such a thing would be both loud and public. What would come to light if such a thing did transpire? No, Ms Parsons, your superiors approached me with this chance because they stand to gain two priceless items. First, they get to keep their dark and twisted Machiavellian manipulations a secret. If I can get Jason back home, with no additional incidents, they don't wind up explaining how one of their agents wound up dead, in Paris. Secondly, they get information. I am sure their Head-Shrinkers will have a field day with Jason, trying to find out what happened to him and how he managed to break away from their control and go independent."

"And what do you gain?" Nicky asked, also rising to her feet.

"I get Jason, or who he was before he became Jason, back once more. I'm doing this out of loyalty for what he used to me, Ms Parsons, but I have self-interest, as well. I get what I've been praying for, ever since he vanished from my life. I get my shot at the happy ending back."

"If you must know, I am going to leave now. My first course of action will be to secure lodging for the next several days. Once I have done so, I will call and check in. Then, I'll start my search for him."

"I thank you once again," Kim concluded. "And I leave you with one, last piece of information. You may be interested about the origin of the _Medusa _myth. Medusa was said to have been a high priestess in the _Temple of Aphrodite_. The legend went that she was so incredibly beautiful that she drew the envy of the Goddess of Love, herself. Jealous, the Goddess then cursed Medusa. Turning her into a gorgon, a creature of such ugliness that those who looked upon her were turned to stone from what they saw. You see, that's another difference between the two of us, Ms Parsons. When you hear _'Medusa'_ you bring the 'death from a glance' aspect to mind. Me, I prefer to consider the 'marred beauty' aspect. I remember the story of an innocent and beautiful person who was turned into something disturbing and ugly by someone who thought themselves like Gods."

With that Kim left the café and Nicky behind, once again taking her seat as the red-head left. She desperately hoped that Nicky and her superiors would swallow the hasty mixture of sweet lies and bitter truth she had just provided. Even if her beiefing was a fleeting one, it was an empowering sensation to know that for this moment, however short it might be, that it was her who was dictating her actions and not someone else.

And whilst Treadstone were checking Hotel's for either herself or her cover : _'Tiffany Meadows'_, she would do something unexpected, she would instead venture straight to the place Ron had called home for many years away from her.

She hailed a passing taxi and cast a quick glance over her shoulder to where she had been sitting moments before. She was unsurprised to see Nicky still sitting at the table holding an object to her ear. Passing the written French address to the driver and offering another pity smile of unsaid communication to him that 'Yes, I would love to chat about the beauty of your city and the rich history of the many tourist attractions, but I can not speak a word of your language.' It was amazing how many people were able to understand the visual hints, and as before from her ride from the Airport she found herself uninterrupted in her many and complicated private thoughts.

Within half-an-hour she arrived at _'His'_ building. It was certainly not like anything she had been expecting. She had in her mind that she would find herself in the 'unpopular' part of Paris, were human scum and other assorted vices were very much visible to unfamiliar eyes. But this Apartment Building was … impressive. And though it was not overstated, it was certainly _'upper-middle-class'_. For the first time in hours she discovered her hands trembling slightly as she handed over a 50-Euro note to a very grateful cab driver. She exited the car and tried to take claim of her excitement and the awaiting fear that was uncomfortably lurking at the back of her mind.

Kim Possible took a sharp intake of air and forced herself to repeat her father mantra: 'Anything is possible for a Possible' to herself. With a copy of a key in her hand she slid it into the front door lock and turned her wrist. In a smooth and welcoming action she felt the bolt slide and with a gentle push the door itself swung open to the foyer.

Afraid that her stalling on the building's only entrance might earn her curious looks from passersby, she steeled her nerves and began to ascend the stairs. When she reached the third level she again looked upon the tightly held scrap of paper and searched out Apartment 3a. After a half-dozen steps forward she found herself staring at the golden metal numbers upon an ivory-white door. Less then a foot from where she had planted herself was the official and acknowledged home of Jason Bourne, European Assassin for the CIA and one time Ron Stoppable. And though she was not truly expecting to find anything incriminating behind this door, as she suspected Langley had sent more then one or two teams to separately cleanse the room of any potential evidence to 'Jason's' motives before they even decided to give her access to it, she still felt that old Mission-Feeling she had when she was a teenager and about to burst into Drakken's Lair. It was a nervous excitement towards what would be revealed in the coming moments.

As with downstairs, she slid the key into the lock and as before the door did not reject her efforts to open it once she heard the lock open. The door creaked as it moved inwards and she was at last confronted with the loneliness of the man she had loved.

There were no pictures on the wall, no decorations or efforts to make this very pleasant and beautiful room attractive to the eye. Everything was minimalist and singular. One seat, one table, one desk and chair, one TV, one laptop. There was nothing in her line of sight that gave any impression other than the one that Ron had chosen to not burden himself with any of the esthetics of living. He made this 'home' one he could easily be abandon without feeling any remorse to the memories he was leaving behind.

Kim slowly made her way to the computer, but she knew any effort on her part to hack into it would be a pointless one. After all, 'Jason' had been killing all around France and the rest of Europe for years and he hadn't ever been caught. Ron might have been careless to leave some clue to his reason's behind, but Jason wasn't.

There was nothing of use in the desk draws either. As an investigation point this place was a total bust. But for curiosity value it was another treasure-trove of personal info for her to cherish over the man she once thought lost to her. Slowly she made herself inspect every room with care, looking for discrepancies of character. Eventually she made her way to the main bedroom. This domain held an almost sacred appeal to her by now as her search continued. If _Jason_ or Ron was anything like her then he would keep any important mementos that held significance above all else here in this room. But aside from a wardrobe with several suits that looked very familiar to one another, a queen-size bed and a bench-press, there was absolutely nothing of worth to his personality visible to her.

Defeated she sat upon the bed and buried her head in her hands as she pondered her next coarse of action. But somehow she found herself roll backwards and descend fully upon the bed itself. She slowly closed her eyes and tried to find the will-power to remove herself from the temptation of this comfort. Instead, however, she drew in a musk of old aftershave and sweat from the pillows. Her eyes gently fluttered open and a serine smile formed on her lips. She had finally gotten that _'connection'_ with Ron that she was after. His scent had remained strong, meaning that these sheets had not been changed since the last time he had slept in this bed. This meant that she was lying in the exact same place that he once was. True, it may not have been the same, but with her eyes closed it was as if she was right beside him. Even if it was only in spirit and not body.

The emotion and the physical strain, plus a health dose of jetlag finally took over in these satisfied minutes, and without even meaning too she found her eyelid become heavy as she drifted off to some much needed slumber. Unconsciously drawing in the essence of the only man she had ever loved.

"_Um, Miss? Are you awake?"_

Kim's eyes broke open and she flinched in surprise at the unknown face looking down upon her and had just woken her from the best sleep she had had for, well, seven-years. The former teen-heroine took in the woman's appearance and the only word that seemed to describe her was … Bohemian-sheik. Before Kim could open her mouth and demand this person to identify herself to her she was stunned into silence at the question that left Bohemian-girl's mouth. It was not directed towards her, but towards someone in the next room.

"Jason, I thought you told me you didn't have a girlfriend?"

From a short distance she heard a reply. "I don't, atleast I don't think I do. Why do you ask?"

Kim's world swirled in on itself as she heard a pair of very manly footsteps begin the journey from the lounge room to the main bedroom.

...

This Chapter is especially dedicated to all the talented KP/RS writer's who offer their work to the masses to enjoy. But more then anything this chapter is dedicated to my Beta - Daccu65, who is as much a co-writer for this piece of work then he is prepared to accept credit for. If reviews are left, and I hope they are ...lol, please remember that _'Words can hurt'_ (a quote from from Hal - _'Malcolm in the Middle'_) ..lol


	4. Chapter 4

Life doesn't prepare you for a lot of things, but springs them on you anyway. Life doesn't prepare you for the thrill of a first, romantic kiss, the loss and loneliness when your first pet passes away, or the excitement of walking out of the DMV with your first driver's license in hand. Sure, you can say that these things are 'no big' before, during, and after each event. You can even pretend to be mature and in control in front of others when they happen. But even while you try your best to keep a composed outer façade, you're either screaming in excitement or hollering in agony, somewhere deep inside.

Over the past 24 hours, Kimberly Anne Possible had been besieged with experiences that life, even a life as extraordinary as the one she had lived, simply couldn't prepare her to deal with. First, she had learned that the man she loved, would always love, was not only alive but also a CIA assassin. Furthermore, she had learned that that he had entered this life after being conned into believing that she wanted him to participate in a brutal 'education program.'

Treadstone, the insidious cell within the CIA that had deceived Ron, had spent months subjecting him to a series of mental and emotional hardships. It had all been calculated to create, in the body of the sweetest and most charitable person Kim had ever know, a cold blooded entity who could kill you as easily as look at you. Yet the worst parts, from Kim's point of view, were that they had used his love of, and trust in, her to accomplish their goal.

These faceless men had led him to believe that she had discarded him, that she had turned her back on their feelings and history. They had deceived him into believing that while he was willingly enduring the suffering and debasement in an effort to build a future with her, she had fallen in love with another man and now carried this stranger's child. If Ron had been in a rational state of mind, she was sure he would have recognized the deception. Unfortunately for him, for them, Treadstone knew its business. They had prepared him for the moment, battering him feeding him psychotic medications and pushing at his boundaries until they knew how he would react to that last, cruel lie.

As Betty Director had said, the outcome had never been in doubt. Ron's sanity, battered by mental, physical, emotional and chemical trauma, could only stand so much. Sadly, if he had managed to resist that last blow, they would have simply continued to pound away at him, until they achieved the results that they wanted.

Yet Kim found herself most disgusted and shamed by one last, hard truth, the first truth that 'Mr. Man' had revealed at this drama's beginning. None of this would have happened to Ron if she, his girlfriend, hadn't found him somewhat…less than worthy…of her. She had always known that Ron had the potential to be much more than he had ever achieved. That was why she occasionally called him 'Potential Boy.' She also knew that he was, by choice, lazy. She had known that if Ron were to achieve anything, he needed someone, like her, pushing him to make something of himself. So, like so many times before, she had acted without consulting with him. She had sought Betty Director's assistance, but the older woman had never received her request. Treadstone had intercepted Kim's email and had decided that Ron was a prime candidate for their program. She had, in effect, handed them Ron on a silver platter.

Yes, life can present you with some unrealistic and extraordinary scenarios, ones that challenge your resolve and understanding. Yet it is during these bizarre moments that you truly learn more about your limits and determination. Right now, Kim Possible knew three things:

One: Because of her actions someone she loved more than her own life was lost, a stranger in his own skin.

Two: She was prepared to do everything in her power to find him and repair the damage her actions had caused.

Three: Anybody who stood in her way would soon wish that they hadn't!

Waking up on the strange bed, she had little time to orient herself to her unfamiliar surroundings. She hadn't even begun to adjust to this strange woman's presence before she heard the name 'Jason' used. Could it be true? Was Ron…Jason, in this very apartment? Ron Stoppable might have been foolish enough to return to this apartment but, from what she understood, Jason was a professional. Logic dictated that if the people who want you gone know where you live, you never return. You might as well hang a bull's-eye on yourself.

Not aware of her actions, Kim tried to straighten her bed head and smooth her blouse's wrinkles when she heard a steady tread in the hallway. After seven years, she was going to find herself face-to-face with her lifelong friend and the Ron-shine of her life. She was painfully aware of what this monster's reaction could be when he saw her. She hoped that Treadstone had taught him restraint before assigning him to Paris. After all, Oxford was less than a hop, skip and a jump away from Paris, and he would have been sorely tempted to cross the English Channel with a concealed sniper rifle and look up a certain redhead.

After three of the longest seconds of her life, she experienced another, profound surprise. She had been expecting either coldness or hatred from him, but she received indifference and a complete lack of recognition. Ron, or Jason, stood beside the female stranger as if she were his lifeline. Jealous memories surfaced, in Kim's mind, of a time when they used to be each other's lifeline. She quickly buried her emotions; jellin' now wouldn't help anyone, even if he was standing far too close to this woman for them to be just friends.

Kim surveyed the woman, wondering if she was another rival for Ron's affection, just as Nicky Parsons had been. If so, then Ron must be branching out, because Nicky and this stranger were polar opposites in appearance and presentation. Parsons projected an efficient yet stylish appearance while this woman, while every bit as attractive, offered a more carefree and comfortable look. She appeared to live her life second to second, unlike Nicky, who seemed to plan her's, months ahead of time, on her Blackberry. Kim's animosity must have been obvious and apparent to her, since the strange woman took a quick half-step to the left, opening an additional half-footbetween her and Ron.

Jason, however, studied Kim for an agonizingly long moment before withdrawing from the room, without speaking a word to either woman.

The stranger watched Jason's retreating form with a perplexed look, but she recovered quickly and returned her attention to Kim, who was still lying on the bed.

"Um, you might have to give Jason a moment or two," she informed the redhead. "So far, his week hasn't been…well, let's just say that he hasn't had a normal week." Tentatively, she extended her hand to Kim. "I'm Marie, by the way; professional vagabond."

Kim made no move to accept the hand; not out of bad-manners, but because she was too much in shock to take any physical action.

"Look, I know how this must look, from your point of view," Marie continued, misinterpreting Kim's inaction. "Believe me, it isn't what you must be thinking. If **my** boyfriend had vanished for a week, then showed up with a strange woman, I'd be giving her the same hairy eyeball that you're giving me right now. Please trust me, there isn't anything torrid going on between the two of us. Still, stay here for just a moment and I'll clear the air with him. Okay?"

Kim nodded, suspiciously, as Marie backed out of the room and closed the door. As soon as she heard the latch click, Kim leapt from the bed, as silently as she could, and placed her ear on the gap between the door and its frame.

_Why didn't Ron acknowledge me?_ She thought. _Is he in a solo, deep-cover assignment with Marie and doesn't want to bring me in? Is he hoping that by denying any recognition, he can deny our past history? He must know that my appearing in his apartment is no coincidence; so that I must be briefed on his new identity._

She suppressed the questions and conclusions swirling in her thoughts as Jason and Marie began to converse in strained whispers.

"What was that all about?" Kim could identify the voice as Marie's.

"I'm sorry, but I didn't know what to say to her and I didn't see the point of staying." Oh how Kim had longed to hear the voice that answered, even under these circumstances.

"Say? Jason, you have questions and there's someone in your room…in your BED, who might have answers. So what do you do? You leave. What's worse, she probably thinks that we're something that we aren't. Look Jason, I'm sorry, but I've already had someone think that I was an adulteress-slash-mistress and I have no plans of repeating that with whomever that is, in the other room."

"Marie, I said I was sorry! What more do you want from me?"

"I don't know, Jason, but anything has to be better than just building a wall around yourself. I know that you're both confused and a lot more scared that you're letting on. You're trying to hide it, but you ARE scared. For some reason, you're always wound up tight; on a hair trigger for a fight-or-flight response. I can't relate to this constant paranoia, so **I** can't talk to you about it, but maybe SHE can. Who knows, she might be able to tell you why you're like this and that just might be what you need, but that won't happen unless you walk back in that room and talk to her."

"But there wasn't anything there, Marie! There weren't any images, thoughts, or random memories, just a blank. How can I talk to her about myself, about her and me, when I don't even know if there is a her and me?"

"How about the exact same way you did it when you started talking to me?" Marie's voice was sharp and annoyed. "Why don't you walk back in there, say hi and play it by ear? Okay, let's try another approach. How about you try looking at this from her point of view? How do you think she feels about this, Hmmm? You reappear, from God knows where, with another woman. Like I said before, Jason, I've been 'the other woman' before and let me tell you, nobody walks away happy from a supposed love triangle. Right now, she's probably thinking all sorts of bad thoughts about me."

"How can you even be sure that we're a couple? Have you even looked at this apartment? Does it say 'love nest' to you? I don't see a woman's touch in this place. To me, it says _'bachelor pad.'_" A short pause. "And an anally retentive bachelor, at that. I wish I could tell you what I was expecting when we walked through the front door, but I can tell you this much, Marie, I sure as Hell wasn't expecting any of this. This is supposed to be my home, Marie. But there's no warmth or familiarity here."

"Jason! Why is this possibility so hard for you to consider? Why are you trying to talk yourself out of talking to her?"

"I'm not," Jason's voice protested. "On the surface, everything seems cut and dried, just like you think it is. But from what little I know about me, my life is anything but normal. I have to take into account that this could be some sort of a set up. I want to think that this is as clear cut as you want it to be, that that woman in there is my girlfriend, or more, but my gut tells me not to trust her."

"Your Gut?!"

"Yes. I know it sounds feeble, but I've been following my instincts on everything so far, and ever since I was pulled out of the Atlantic they've been correct. Right now my gut's telling me not to trust her."

"Don't you trust me?" Kim swore she could hear the puppy dog pout in the voice.

"Trust you? No. Rely on you? Yes."

"My, that silver tongue makes the think that my early appraisal of you was a little generous."

"Appraisal?"

"Yes, Jason, my appraisal," Marie's voice had and exasperated air. "I've been sitting less than one meter from you, a man I hadn't even known before this week, for the last fourteen hours. Did you really think that I wasn't watching you for the first hour of our drive, making sure that you weren't about to attack me, rape me, or slit my throat from ear to ear? I was trying to figure out if I could trust you. I didn't say anything while we were in the car, because it would have been weird, but I thought it would have been odd if you didn't have a girlfriend, fiancée, or a wife waiting for you, somewhere. You're fit, good-looking, clever, polite, and you have close to three million dollars in your backpack. That's a pretty appealing package to the right type of woman."

"I'm sorry," Jason's voice responded. "When I said I didn't trust you, it didn't come out exactly right. The truth is that I **do** trust you, more than anyone else that I've met this week. The problem is, I can't allow myself to trust anyone **completely** until I learn more about myself. Even though I don't have any memories, I do have my gut feelings. These feelings are telling me that that woman in there is nothing but a hundred miles of bad road."

"Alright, she's bad news. Why?"

"Why?"

"You just said that you have no memories of her, but you still distrust her. If she looked…well, wrong, I could agree with you. If she had stepped forward and started giving you orders, I could agree with you. But to me, Jason, she seems like a very confused, normal person, and that fits the bill for a woman seeing her missing boyfriend, or more, reappearing with another woman."

"You're right that I don't have any reason to distrust her. You're one hundred percent correct except for the normal part. She isn't normal; she's perfect…beautiful. I should be thrilled that I'm involved, somehow, with her, but I just can't get rid of this feeling that she's not the kind of person that I can rely on, like I can rely on you."

Kim couldn't force herself to listen to any more of this. It was one thing for her to eavesdrop on a private conversation; she had convinced herself that she was doing so in order to get a 'lay of the land,' so to speak, before dealing with Jason and Marie. She could not, however, stand here and listen as a potential rival defended her from Ron's distrust. She didn't know if Ron was playing some elaborate act to deceive Marie or if he had truly developed amnesia. If he had lost his memories, it would go a long way in explaining why he hadn't reacted to her **and** why he had not tried to re-establish contact with his controllers at Treadstone. It also provided her an opportunity

If Ron, Jason, had developed amnesia, his mind was a clean slate for her to work with. She had the opportunity to color his perceptions **before** providing him with a full accounting of the past seven years, assuring that 'Ron' would reject 'Jason' and return to her. She paused in her recollections; was she prepared to manipulate his personality, just like Treadstone had done, in order to get her beloved Ron back? Was she truly that obsessed that she was willing to 'pull a Treadstone,' even while criticizing their actions?

At the moment, she didn't have answers to these questions. In fact, these questions were only valid if what she had just heard was real, and not an elaborate performance. Regardless, Ron was still in significant danger and Marie appeared to be an innocent civilian caught up in events beyond her comprehension. Kim's first priority was obvious; move these two to a place of safety, **then** working out their next course of action.

Kim took a deep breath and composed herself as best she could. She rattled the doorknob, before opening the door, in an effort to give Jason and Marie a little warning. As soon as she stepped into the corridor, the conversation between the two lapsed into silence. Ron met her gaze for only a moment, before he immersed himself, totally, in searching through the desk in front of him.

"Well, I don't know about you," Marie's tone was annoyed, as she directed the comment to Jason with an 'over her shoulder' glance. "But I could use a few moments to freshen up, after being on the road so long."

"Yeah, sure, go ahead," Ron replied, with an indifferent tone.

Marie slid off of the edge of the same desk Ron was rifling and shook her head in irritated amusement. Walking towards Kim, she favored the redhead with the same, relaxed smile that she had worn when she left the bedroom. She offered her hand, again, when she approached and this time, Kim accepted the handshake.

"I forgot to ask your name earlier," she commented, using an almost comical, 'stage casual' voice. "But I was hoping that **Jason** would **remember** his manners and introduce us. As you can see, his etiquette is a little lacking at the moment."

Kim suppressed a smirk, forcing a small smile on her face. It appeared that Marie, at least, was genuine and was trying to goad Ron/Jason into a conversation with his apparent 'significant other.' The hand that Kim had just released had not only been offered out of politeness, but had also been offered too help the confused, young man.

"I'm Tiffany, Tiffany Meadow's," Kim answered, risking a quick glance at Ron.

Kim was both disappointed and elated to see Ron's lack of a reaction to the alias Nicky had given her. This meant that either the amnesia story she had overheard was true, that Ron was a far better actor than she gave him credit for, or that Nicky had given her a truly discreet alias, one that she had never shared with Jason.

"A pleasure to meet you, Tiffany," Marie's warm response brought Kim's attention back to the other woman. "If you don't mind, I need to visit the little girl's room. This should give you and Jason a chance to catch up with each other."

_That's one way of putting it._ Kim profoundly hoped that she had only thought the phrase. Fortunately, even if she had spoken aloud and Marie had heard her, she showed no reaction.

Kimberly Anne Possible, one time heroine and adventurer, found herself rooted to the floor. While she knew what she wanted to do, she suddenly found herself lacking the nerve to see it through. While she had experienced this same, strange mixture of nervousness, excitement, and shyness before this, it had been many years ago and back then it was associated to her then crush, Josh Mankey. She sighed with a sad smile gracing her lips as she recalled the naive innocence she once possessed during her years as a teenager, and the boy who had helped her overcome her shyness towards her crush. If only the girls who had lived in the upper-strata of the Middleton High food chain those many years ago could see Ron now. The one time loser and pariah had changed a great deal. Kim didn't know if it was because or despite the slight cosmetic surgery, but Ron had now become first rate eye-candy. He was dangerous eye-candy, certainly, but she was once again feeling those long-forgotten, teenage girly sensations she once had whenever Josh used to look in her direction with a smile on his face.

She swallowed her fears and forced herself to take the walk across the room, wondering what she could say to dispel the awkwardness that had settled upon both her and Ron. Ron's head and eyes rose up to meet hers.

"I don't know who you are," he said in a monotone. "I'm sorry if it hurts you to hear me say that, Tiffany, but I don't. And I honestly wish that I did." Her long missing, and still lost, love walked around the desk and stood face to face with her. "Y'know, it's strange to walk into an apartment, knowing that it's your home, and not recognize anything. It's even stranger to walk into that apartment, find someone asleep in your own bed, and not have any memory of who they are and what they mean to you."

Ron extended his right arm and placed his hand on Kim's left shoulder, using his thumb to caress her cheek, his eyes softly gazing upon her as he tried to encourage a memory from this tactile familiarity. Kim angled her head into the long-absent touch, cursing herself at how wonderful this simple offering made her feel inside.

"I know that my name is Jason Bourne," he informed her, as she deliberately fought down an inner-urge to mirror his caress. "I also know that I'm very good at hurting people and I don't want to hurt you, especially if the two of us are…involved. I don't know who I am, Tiffany, or what I am capable of. I don't know if I can ever go back to being…whatever I was to you before."

He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders before continuing. "But if you help me reclaim my life, help me fill in the blanks, then maybe I will be able to become **him** again. I suppose anything would be preferable to what I feel right now. Right now, it's all emptiness…nothing…and I NEED to know who I am and what kind of person I was."

His statement, combined with his pleading, brown eyes, caught her off guard. She knew that, at this moment, Ron was Jason only in name; he truly had no memory of his past deeds. The photograph she had seen back in Dr. Director's office didn't match the man in front of her. That man was a cold, thuggish assassin, showing no emotions. This man was confused and scared; scared mainly about the harm he could cause those close to him. Sure, he wasn't Ron, be he wasn't a cold-blooded murderer, either. Kim fought down a sudden urge to throw her arms around his neck. The last thing this confused and frightened man needed was for her to startle him with her own relief and happiness.

"It's okay, Ro…er, Jason," she murmured, after a moment to compose herself. "How about telling me every thing you can remember?"

"What do I remember?" He mused. He pulled his arm back from her and let it drop to his side. He set his elbows on the desktop and gently leaned on that piece of furniture. "How about nothing? At least, I don't remember anything that gives me any information from before this past week. The best way I can describe my memory is…random flickers. I can recall some images, dates, and faces, but I don't know how they're related to each other. I know that some dates are important to me, but I don't know why. In a way, each of these images is like the threads of a spider's web. Every time I try to examine one, it's like I break something, and the whole structure collapses into a meaningless jumble. My memories have been like that for just over a week now."

Kim nodded in understanding, unaware that she was doing so. For the first time in her life, she was glad that her brain-surgeon mother had occasionally brought her work home. While brains were a gross topic at the dinner table, Kim was now reaping the benefit of enduring her mother's educational sessions. Because of these sessions, and Ron's description, she knew that his memories were intact. He simply lacked the ability to access each memory's relevance.

"My coherent memories begin a little over a week ago," he told her. He shoved himself up from the desk and stood. He looked uncomfortable with what he was about to say, but still determined to say it. "I was pulled out of the Atlantic, off the coast of France, by a fishing trawler's crew. When they pulled me aboard the discovered that I was injured." He looked straight in her eyes. "Two gunshot injuries to my chest."

Kim tried to remain passive to this news, but old habits died hard. Without thinking about it, she reached out and ran her hands over his chest, searching out his wounds. Ron's hands quickly clasped hers.

"It's okay," he told her, giving her hands a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "They were superficial injuries. Neither bullet penetrated more than an inch and, lucky for me, the crew included a very capable cook."

"A COOK?!" Kim shrieked. "You needed a doctor! They should have sent an emergency signal and had the Coast Guard, or somebody, evacuate you to a proper hospital. What would they have done if you had died?"

"They joked that they would have had stew for the rest of the trip, if I had," Jason smiled with a light chuckle. Kim, however, didn't find the jibe amusing.

"So not funny," she growled. "If they weren't willing to alert the proper authorities about a gunshot wound, they probably would have just tossed you overboard and pretended that they had never seen you."

"You're probably right," Ron's tone, and expression, had become serious. "They were fishing, and maybe doing other things, illegally. If they had alerted the proper authorities, they would have wound up facing a lot of questions that they weren't prepared to answer. They weren't following France's laws, but they followed the law of the sea. They pulled me aboard, patched me up as best they could, gave me some of their spare clothes, and for the next few days, until the boat touched the dock, they treated me as one of their own."

"But still, even the simplest operations can cause infections. Did they at least give you antibiotics?"

"They didn't have any," Ron said, with a shake of his head. "The cook told me that he doused his knives and pliers with the strongest rot-gut that they had, and I haven't had any complications, so I guess it worked." He smiled at her. "I'm alive, Tiffany. I'm confused and disjointed, but I'm alive. You may be shocked and outraged about the care I received, but I want you to know that if they hadn't came along when they did, I would be dead and missing. All things considered, I owe them, big time."

Kim dropped her eyes in shame. _What the hell am I doing,_ she thought. _I should be grateful to that crew, not judging the people who rescued him from a watery grave…Wait a minute! He thought that he was drowning, that he was as good as dead. Then he regained consciousness, unaware of his life as a killer._

Kim looked up to stare at Ron's face, ignoring what he was saying to her. _Amnesia is almost always the result of trauma_, she recalled. _This trauma can be either physical or emotional. I can't see any evidence that Ron suffered a head injury; there's no bruising or swelling. When I was a Sunshine Spreader at the Medical Center, the patients who mom saw for cognitive and memory problems all had obvious head injuries. If Ron had sustained such an injury, there would still be bruising, swelling, pain, and other symptoms. With head injury eliminated as a cause, that leaves emotional trauma._

Suddenly, the image she had of Ron being pulled from the Atlantic, nearly dead, made a connection with another image. _Treadstone did that horrid…rebirthing at the beginning of his indoctrination_, she realized. _Bringing him within moments of death by drowning in order to make him let go of his past life. Could the circumstances that put him in the ocean have had a similar affect? If Jason thought that he was going to die, by drowning, could his subconscious have panicked and replayed the last time he had this experience?_

_Could Treadstone's bizarre approach, using the rebirthing as a part of the psychological conditioning, have created a form of…override, for their own indoctrination? Is this what had happened to Ron? Did his near-death experience mimic the Treadstone drowning-tank close enough to have a similar effect? It appeared that it had. Upon being revived by the fishermen/smugglers, his mind had…reset itself, rejecting the memories and forming a clean canvas._

"…At any rate, I've been doing detective work ever since we docked. The crew passed the hat around and gave me a couple of hundred Euros. The cook, Saul, slipped me something he had found on me during his triage work. He had kept his discovery confidential, since he really didn't trust some of the crew. He had found some papers with an account number, for a bank in Zurich. Saul even gave me his passport. It was going to expire in another month anyway, and he thought I could use it to get across the border. I did a bit of superficial doctoring to it and bought a train ticket to Switzerland.

"Just like that?" Kim was incredulous. "You had somebody else's passport, a hundred or so Euros, two bullet wounds and no memory; yet you still managed to cross an international border? You make is sound so easy, like crossing a street, not like entering another country, illegally."

"And that's what concerns me the most, Tiffany, it was easy. It was if I was on some kind of inner cruise-control. I don't know how I knew how to do it all, I just did it. And that's not the only thing."

"There's more?"

"Tiffany, I need to be able to trust you; Marie says that I should but I can't shake this notion that I shouldn't. It's nothing that you've said or done," here a very Ron-like grin broke through his confused expression. "In the ten minutes I've known you. I wish that I could explain it better than I have. I know that…"

Kim noticed Ron's appearance alter, in the blink of an eye, as his words faded into silence. The change wasn't drastic; in fact she couldn't describe it as a physical change as much as a change in his demeanor. Although it was hard to describe, his _'openness'_ with which he had been communicating suddenly went closed. His now radiated harsh intensity, rather than hopeful confusion, even though his expression hadn't changed.

With a crisp, clean action, the man who knew himself as Jason Bourne raised his index finger to his lips while using his opposite hand to pat the air in a downwards display. While Kim didn't know the reason for this strange behavior, she recognized the universal instructions to be quiet and stay still, and she complied.

"Do you hear that?" Jason asked, after several seconds.

"What? I don't hear anything."

"There were pigeon's on the ledge outside, about eight or so," he informed her. "They just flew off."

Fear began to grip Kim; was he on the verge of accessing he memories of _Jason Bourne_? If so, she would find herself in a very tense situation, especially after introducing herself to him as _Tiffany Meadows_. The last thing that she needed was for Ron to believe that she was playing him for a fool, just like the 'instructors' at Treadstone had led him to believe she already done once.

If he was about to 'become Jason,' she needed him off-balance, at least until she had a firm grasp of what she was going to do and how she was going to help him. The last thing that she, and Ron, needed was for Jason Bourne to emerge as the dominant personality.

"Alright," she said. "Let's not wig out because a few of our feathered friends decided to go sight seeing. They probably decided to catch a little exercise, that's all."

"City birds that are comfortably roosted don't fly off, in mass, unless they feel threatened," he answered, as if reciting a lesson. "When they are not threatened, they fly away sporadically, in singles and pairs. Something's spooked those birds." Ron took on an expression that Kim had last seen after he had blurted out his hatred of meat-cakes; a 'where did **that** come from' sort of look.

"Something's not right here," he finally said. "Look, I'd better check this out, just to be on the safe side. I want you to stay here for me, okay?"

Again, Kim did not like what she was hearing. His reasoning was very sharp, very…what did Nick say when Kim had claimed to be hunting him? She had said that Jason was nobody's prey. That's how Ron was acting right now; not as potential prey fearing a predator's approach, but as a predator patrolling his territory. Kim couldn't allow Ron to descend deeper into the psyche of the governmental assassin; if he did then she might not be able to ever call him back again. She decided to play the part of Jason's shadow and began to follow him through his home.

"Look, it would be better if you stayed back where you were, so I can account for you," Jason informed her, without looking at her or even turning around.

"Don't you think that if something's fishy it would be safer for me to be closer to you?" Kim replied, without hesitation. She wasn't sure if she had as much faith in _Jason's _instincts as much as he did. All she knew was that she needed to keep an eye on him, so that she could observe his behavior. Ron stalked towards the other end of the apartment, neither questioning her statement nor repeating his request.

"Jason, the lights just went out!" Marie's exclamation from the bathroom caught Kim off guard but Ron didn't even flinch. In fact, he seemed to welcome the question as he walked into the kitchen, with _'Tiffany Meadows'_ in close pursuit.

"I'll check out here," he called. He reached out to a switch on a nearby wall and threw it. Kim, involuntarily, lifted her eyes to the light fixture, which remained dark. With the amount of natural light flowing in through the windows, she would have never realized that the electricity was out.

"It must be out in the entire building," he called to Marie, even as he picked up the telephone. Kim gasped at his suddenly grim, yet satisfied, expression.

"The phone's out as well," his whisper was just loud enough for Kim to hear. "This sounds awfully familiar, and not in a good way." With this additional piece of information, Ron's speed increased. He swept, silently, into the kitchen and selected an expensive-looking, butcher knife.

_Did I miss my window of opportunity?_ Kim asked herself. _Has Jason Bourne emerged without me even noticing? Is he going to kill me for what he thinks that I did to him?_

Ron, or Jason, looked at her frightened expression and, with an expression of remorse, twisted the blade so that it was aligned along his forearm. With the weapon semi-concealed, he went back into action.

"Alright, no more messing around," he informed her in a conspiratorially low tone. "I need you to stay here. Nod if you understand." Kim nodded.

"Good," he continued. "It might not be anything, but if it is something, it could be something very bad. If there is something going down, I need to be able to account for both yours and Marie's locations. Understand?"

At Kim's second nod, Jason left the kitchen and tapped on the bathroom door. Within seconds, the door opened just enough for Marie to peek through. This action caught the amnesiac assassin by surprise. From her vantage point in the kitchen, Kim could see Jason keep the door between Marie and his knife-wielding hand.

"Sorry," Jason apologized to his guest. "The power seems to be out in the entire apartment. If you stay put, I'll go see if it's building wide." Kim almost gasped aloud at his relaxed manner; so at odds with the tension he displayed a moment before.

"You're a lifesaver, Jason. Thank you."

"No problem, be back in a minute."

Marie had no sooner closed the door than Jason's suspicions were proven true by the sound of shattering glass and a spray of loud bangs, coming from the hallway. Despite her fear, curiosity and a healthy dose of the hero she had once been flared within her. Almost against her will, her feet carried her to confront the unknown.

When she turned into the hallway, the scene froze her to the spot. The intruder was just meters from Ron, who had his back to the bathroom door, ordering Marie to fasten the door on her side and stay inside. The Assailant was trying to wrestle free a blocked chamber of the semi-automatic in his hand. Above and besides this unwanted stranger were blacken bullet holes, the motion of her arrival in the corridor drawing the assassin away from his task and throwing the now useless weapon to the floor.

Kim had no time to process a game plan, so she allowed impulse and memory to guide her. "I'll deal with this, Ron," she ordered, darting past her long-lost friend. "Protect Marie and get out of here!"

The new and very uninvited guest showed no sign of being put off by Kim's charge or her forceful orders. His vision remained locked with Jason's as his hands now danced over his abseiling harness. In less time than it took to inhale, all of the straps came free and he stood untethered. His expression was one she had never seen on a human face. She imagined that a starving wolf, upon spotting injured prey, would adopt a similar expression. Not even Shego had ever looked so…voracious.

As she closed on her quarry, she noticed a cross, printed across his cotton shirt. It didn't take much brain power for her to realize that she was probably facing _'Choirboy',_ one of Treadstone's stable of thoroughbred killers. This was serious, indeed.

"Alright, Euro-trash," she snapped. "You want him, you'll have to get through me first!"

For the first time, Choirboy shifted his eyes from his intended target to her. Kim was used to defiant, return banter from her opponents. Shego or Monkeyfist would have voiced their willingness to comply with the situation. Killigan would have snapped back **something** in his incomprehensible accent. Choirboy, a programmed assassin, didn't make a sound. While he was subtle, Kim noted that he shifted most of his weight to his left leg, preparing some sort of strike on the charging redhead. Her body acted almost on its own; her left foot flew upward in a roundhouse against his unbalanced right side. Even as her foot flew towards her target, she realized how stupid her action had been.

It had been almost five years since her last fight and she hadn't had her cheerleading keeping her in shape for more than two. Her execution was sloppy and her timing was off. Even before her foot made contact with her opponent, she began to loose her balance. Without a firmly planted foot, her strike would lack enough force to inflict significant injury. Five years ago, her foot would have beat his block and struck his torso with enough force to shatter ribs. Today, she flailed, off balance, as he first blocked the kick, then twirled his arm in a tight circle, pinning her leg between his arm and torso. Stuck and vulnerable, she could only watch his inevitable strike come in.

Five years ago, her hands would have been up and her elbows in tight, in position to protect her body. Today, those hands were flailing in a vain attempt to regain her balance, out of position to intercept her assailant's oncoming left fist. That fist hammered into her solar plexus. If she hadn't already been falling, moving with the blow, she had no doubt that it would have been strong enough to break her ribs. As it was, her back met the floor with stunning force, driving the air out of her lungs and probably cracking some ribs. She could only look up, immobile, as her assailant's right fist lined up on her head.

With a most likely fatal blow coming in and no way to avoid it, time seemed to slow down for the one time heroine. Oddly enough, she didn't think about her family, her career, or even her lovers. Only one thought dominated her mind.

_At least I managed to see Ron one last time._

**XXX**

_As always a special BOO-YAH goes out to my beta – daccu65, whose thoughts and contributions are always pure gold …lol._

Read and Review time people …lol


	5. Chapter 5

Kim Possible never looked upon herself as a weak person, mentally, physically, emotionally or spiritally

Kim Possible had never considered herself a weak person; mentally, physically, emotionally or spiritually. She knew that she was also proud and vain, even though she would never admit this to anyone else. This pride and vanity would usually emerge over trivial issues and one of these issues was the fact that she was…well, a girl. No, she had never complained about her gender. Being a girl not only rocked, it STADUIUM rocked. The only time she had ever resented being a girl was at the age of five, when she fully grasped the fact that Ron Stoppable, the weird, blonde haired tyke she had met the previous year, her bestest best friend, was a boy. Childhood Ron was strange and funny but that was okay, since she liked strange and funny. Yet, no matter how much she liked him, the unwritten laws of kid-hood dictated that girls had girls as best friends and boys had boys as best friends. Since Ron couldn't become a girl and she couldn't become a boy, she did the next best thing; right up through to Middle School she was a regular tomboy.

The tomboy phase worked fine for her (and made life much easier for her father) until the adolescent Kim started to realize that she really liked the so-called girly things. Ron had seemed to sense this and, in his own effort to remain close to his bestest best friend, he compensated, as well. He turned his back on a lot of the 'boy' things, like sports and rebellion. Thus, by the time they had entered high school, she still had enough of a _'masculine'_ persona and he enough of a _'feminine'_ persona, to remain inseparable friends.

The actions the two had, unconsciously, taken to remain close had perhaps clouded exactly what he meant to her. These clouds had been ripped apart by the Diablo Incident, and she had sworn at the time that she would never take Ron's contributions to her life for granted, ever again. But as beautiful as this personal oath was, she had found herself breaking it repeatedly. Ron was odd…period. He wasn't odd in a dangerous or evil way, but he was odd in an embarrassing way. This oddness was both tolerable and amusing when they were best friends but when they became a couple, his bizarre actions affected her reputation. She would never stop loving him but it drove her crazy that he seemed unable to accept her long-term feelings for him. If she could only make him see himself as she did, she knew that a lot of his doubts, and probably his oddness, would be addressed.

It had been beyond difficult to leave for Oxford. Of course, he gave her _'the talk'_ about how he never wanted to hold her back, and he would understand if she found a better guy. He had even gone to the trouble of giving her a play card from his old Monopoly Game. If she sent him the _'Get out of jail for free'_ card, he would know that she had met someone new and they would be spared a painful, awkward conversation.

Her reaction to this totally thoughtful and 'Ron'-gesture was surprising, even to her as she actually did it. She should have torn up the card on the spot; right in front of him. Instead, she had placed it in her purse, fully intending on returning it to him when she returned for the summer. He would give it back to her the following fall, and she would return it to him, again, the next spring. But this anticipated exchange never developed. Six months later, her world ended when Ron disappeared. While she held several people culpable, she held only one person completely responsible; herself. Somehow, despite the lack of evidence, she had known, knew, that his disappearance was somehow connected with the extreme life that she had dragged Ron into, kicking and screaming, all of those years ago. He had always been there for her when it mattered; why hadn't she been able to do the same?

These thoughts flashed through her mind in the blink of an eye, all of the time she figured she had before meeting her Maker. She sought forgiveness over the only sin that really mattered to her; her contribution to the _'death'_ of Ron Stoppable. That she was about to be dispatched due to her own ego and the thrilling memory of the glory days seemed… moral to her. In two perfectly executed moves, that had taken less that three seconds to execute, the Treadstone executioner, Choirboy, had twisted her knee and cracked a couple of her ribs. Winding up on her posterior was just the cherry on top of the humiliation sundae he had served up for her. She closed her eyes in anticipation of the final blow.

Yet, death didn't come, at least at that moment. In fact, nothing happened to her. She opened her eyes and saw the reason why the Grim Reaper had been delayed. Ron, or Jason, and _Choirboy_ were locked up in a brutal clench. As she watched, the two struggled for an advantage in a physical show of brute strength. The narrow corridor made it nearly impossible for either to find the room to turn this into a contest of skill. Instead, they forced each other down the hallway, bouncing each other off of the walls on the way.

Kim found herself reminded of two male lions fighting for the right to a pride; the clench had **that** kind of intensity. With another crash, the two tumbled into a room, leaving the hallway vacant. With the way clear, Marie emerged from the bathroom and all but pounced on the dazed, injured redhead.

"We have to get out of here," the vagabond whispered, placing her arms under Kim's torso in a haphazard embrace and pulling her off the floor. Kim couldn't restrain the sharp hissss of pain as Marie's embrace squeezed her battered ribs. Once Marie got her on her feet, Kim realized that her right knee wasn't ready to bear her weight. Marie noted her predicament. "This isn't going to be pretty or painless," Marie informed Kim. "But we have to go."

Her eyes moistened by the pain from her ribs and her leg, but Kim remained immobile in the face of Marie's physical and verbal nudges towards the door. The chilling sounds of flesh striking flesh, emanating from the living area, wouldn't let her escape to safety whilst Ron was literally fighting for his life a stones-throw away.

"NO! I'm not leaving him." She snapped to her would-be rescuer. "Not after finally finding him again. You go if you need to, but I'm not going to desert him, not again. Whatever he's facing, I'll face it with him."

Kim pushed herself away from Marie's support and hobbled down the damaged corridor. She stopped when she saw Ron's knife on the floor. He must have dropped it during his melee with his brother-assassin. Kim tried to collect the weapon but her ribs and her knee screamed in protest when she tried to lower herself enough to reach it.

"Fine then," Marie commented. "If you're going to be an idiot, you might as well have company." She matched her words with deeds by recovering the blade. As she stood, the sounds of shattering glass and splintering wood burst from the next room, prompting the young woman to drop into a crouch, brandishing the knife in a defensive manner. With her free hand, she reached out, grabbed Kim's arm and pulled the redhead to her side.

Kim wasn't sure if this action was meant to assist her, or provide Marie with additional protection. If Choirboy came charging at them, would Marie push her in the killer's path, gaining a few precious seconds to escape? The question was like poison to her mind and she hated herself for being unable to quit considering the possibility. Over the past twenty-four hours, she had lived in a world of self-interest and mistrust. Even though her own actions had remained honorable, she was beginning to understand the compromises and necessities that Ron had been living with for the last several years. Less than two days into her 'out of retirement' adventure, she knew that her optimistic opinion of herself, others, and the world in general would be forever tarnished.

Staggering like a pair of drunks competing in a three-legged race, the two women approached a caved in glass door, which offered an entrance to the apartment's main room. Low, hard thuds sounded from the room as they cautiously peered around the door's frame, seeking the source of the sounds. The men had broken their clench and had apparently just exchanged a series of blows. They now stared at each other, each appraising his own injuries, the injuries he had inflicted upon his opponent, and calculating his next moves. As before, Kim found it nearly impossible to consider the combatants as men. There was something incredibly primal and scarily majestic about the encounter.

Choirboy's expression had shifted from engrossed anger to giddiness. The assailant was covered with sweat and bleeding from a cut over his eye, but his smile seemed strangely radiant. Somehow, deep inside, Kim knew that the smile wasn't some visual declaration of joy to the challenge Ron/Jason offered. No, what Kim saw in his expression wasn't exhilaration, at least in the normal sense. Kim stared in wide-eyed amazement, gripped by the sudden realization that Choirboy was, in some sick and twisted way, 'getting off' on this life and death struggle.

Despite her past, Kim couldn't quite understand it. She had been known as an adrenaline junky, or thrill seeker in her teenage years. She was forced to admit that she had enjoyed the rush from a midnight HALO drop and the thrill of dodging Shego's plasma blasts. Yet, she had never, during all of those intense, intoxicating experiences, ever experienced any sort of…sexual…gratification. Granted, there was more than one occasion where the intense adrenaline rush had, after the mission, contributed to her grabbing Ron and…

Pulling herself back to the here and now, she noted that Ron's expression was completely different from Choirboy's. And in a very frightening way, it was a familiar one. Ron's face showed no elation or joy, just strict, grim indifference to his danger. Even though his face and body had changed since she had last seen him, there was no mistaking where she had last seen this determination on that face.

The first time she had seen that expression was nearly eight years ago, although she was sure he had worn it many times prior to that original occasion she had noticed him with it. If he hadn't been wearing a costume that made him look more like an oversized brown rat than a small predator of the weasel family, she would have melted into his arms a whole year earlier than she had. Even despite the fact that she had subsequently joked and teased him about his foray into living the life of a camped 1970's superhero, she had to secretly admit that the experience had probably helped him a great deal. It was also helping him right now. That strange being that was in some ways both Jason and Ron, and in some ways neither, had become _The_ _Fearless Ferret_.

His focus was unmistakable, it was the first time she had ever seen him voluntarily step up and become a semblance of the man she never thought he could be. Sure, the Ron of old had saved the day many times when she had been unable to do so; Camp Wannaweep was the first example that came to mind. Yet it wasn't until his stint as The Ferret's 'successor' that she saw him take what he was doing so seriously. He had gone out and executed, not just depended upon accidents that worked towards his benefit.

This revelation made her wonder if his current psyche wasn't the removal of both Jason and Ron, but an amalgamation of every persona he had ever developed over the years. And if this was the indeed the case, how soon would it be until Zorpox came out to play?

Kim forced this notion to the back burner of her churning thoughts. She could not allow herself to be distracted by future possibilities; the NOW was far more dangerous than the unknown future. Besides, such a thought was terrifying, she had no idea how she could even begin to deal with the villain that had intimidated Shego. No, there was only Ron and Jason; no Ferret and no Zorpox. Right now, she had to concentrate on survival for herself and Ron…and Marie as well of course.

Looking strictly at the numbers, Kim and company outnumbered the opposition three to one. This would seem to work in their favor. Yet, when she looked beyond the numbers, Kim realized that the advantage was illusionary. For starters, she could barely stand without Marie's assistance. As for Marie, she was shaking so badly that the knife Ron had dropped earlier, and which Marie now wielded, was shaking like a leaf in the wind. There was little chance that the vagabond would prove to be an asset. Finally, there was Ron himself. While his expression wasn't betraying his condition, she knew that he must be functioning only on adrenaline, after his extended run across Europe with Marie. Added to this were the bullet wounds he had told her about earlier. Unless his body was able to heal at several times the normal rate, those injuries were causing him problems right now. No cook, regardless of his skills, working in a fishing boat galley, could match a competent surgeon or ER Doctor. So unless Treadstone had somehow turned Ron into _Wolverine_ from the _X-Men_, or he had taken some kind of mystical-mojo-potion, his earlier wounds were taking a toll on him.

Having analyzed the tactical situation, Kim had to conclude that despite the numbers, Choirboy had the advantage at this point. She had to give Ron some kind of plus, something to tip the scales into his favor. Marie's trembling hand caught her attention and Kim experienced a moment of inspiration.

"Marie," she directed her stressed whisper into her companion's ear. "Marie, we have to somehow get that knife to Jason."

"Are you out of your mind?" The self-proclaimed drifter hissed back, never taking her eyes off of the stand-off playing itself out in front of them. Choirboy's insane smile stretched impossibly wide across his face as the younger woman continued, "I'm not giving this up to anybody at the moment. Besides, how am I supposed to get it to him? Walk right between them, or maybe throw it to him and say 'catch'?"

"Don't worry about that, I've got an idea," Kim replied, conceding her point. "I'll distract 'Mr. Smiley' there. While I'm doing that, get to Jason and hand him the knife. Please trust me on this, Marie. If that _animal_ takes out Jason, we're not going to stand a chance, knife or no knife."

Kim didn't know if her companion understood her reasoning or if she was a soft sell to the Puppy Dog Pout, but Marie nodded her acceptance. All Kim had to do was fulfill her part and pray that she would live long enough to be embarrassed by what she was about to do.

"Now!" Kim snapped, before either woman could lose her nerve. Kim accompanied her word with action, patting Marie forward, onto the makeshift battlefield. As soon as the vagabond was in motion, Kim quickly grasped her blouse's hem, took a deep breath, and lifted the front towards her chin. Giving a silent thanks to God that she wasn't wearing a bra and hoped that flashing Choirboy would distract him long enough for Marie to fulfill her part of the plan. All the girl needed was a second, hell not even that, a _millisecond_ with Choirboy's eyes on Kim's…body. That was all that was needed to turn this fight, she had to believe that, or believe that everything was lost for all of them.

Kim's hopes were realized in that fraction of a moment. Her hastily made and desperate plan for survival came to fruition as Choirboy's gaze briefly latched on to her … _bareness_. It was a frozen moment that made her millisecond desire seem an eternity. Even though Kim's ego received a slight bruising from her failure to capture his attention for any longer then an unimpressed glance, the distraction was long enough for Marie to cross the room and slap the knife's hilt into Ron's surprised hand.

Re-energized by being rearmed, Ron slowly swept one arm outward, gently directing Marie out of his chosen _'fighting circle', _all awhile keeping the knife in line with his opponent. The twin Treadstone Killers knew that the next minute would be decisive. Kim couldn't tell if Choirboy cared about his fate, but she noticed that he was now looking at Ron with the same, stern seriousness that Ron had worn throughout the fight. The smiling, the grinning, had now ceased to be.

Ron remained as still as a statue, his eyes glued on his opponent. Kim couldn't even detect his breathing or his blinking. Tentatively, Marie backed to her previous vantage point, before her desperate dash. Kim welcomed her arrival. The younger woman eased her right arm under Kim's left and angled her body to support a portion of Kim's weight. Neither woman said a word, concerned that any sound would provide the catalyst, that last little nudge that would prompt the inevitable and deadly reaction between the men. Kim held her breath and drew herself closer to Marie. In mere moments, the love of her life would either kill or be killed and she couldn't influence the outcome any more than she already had.

The sudden blare of a scooter horn sounded through the shattered window, sending Kim and Marie a good half-foot up from the floor and triggering the final encounter. Choirboy moved first, charging forward and spinning his body clockwise so that he led with his back. As his back passed into clear view, Kim deduced the assassin's reasoning; his jacket broad-rear looked abnormally hard and extended. In an instant, Kim recalled that Choirboy had rappelled from either the floor above or the roof. This meant that he might have been wearing some form of protective clothing or back armor, in anticipation of breaking through the window. If his spine was shielded against impact damage, could this same shielding deflect a kitchen knife's penetration? She wasn't sure, yet it was an advantage. An advantage that she wasn't sure if Ron was aware of. And even if she could find her voice in time to scream out a warning, by the time his charge had been met it would already have been too late to act upon it.

Ron remained motionless in the face of Choirboy's unconventional attack. He remained motionless in the face of his previously silent assailant's battle cry. He was motionless to it all, biding his brief seconds and choosing his moment. When Choirboy's back was square on to him, this moment came and it came with a vengeance. In a swift decent, the person Kim had always believed to be the gentlest person on the planet dropped to his knees and sliced his now hungry blade across the back of his opponent's thighs. The blade went in deep, cutting the hamstrings and changing Choirboy's war cry to a shrill of unearthly pain. The Treadstone hit man then loss all grace and collapsed to the floor in the middle of a now expanding pool of his blood.

Ron didn't allow himself a moment to reflect on his gruesome act. Working on either training or instinct, he ignored the women's twin gasps of horror and rolled Choirboy onto his back and clamped his hand over his would-be killer's mouth. With Choirboy's screams muffled, Ron began patting the man down, searching for weapons, id, anything that would explain why he had been forced to fight for his life.

In a last act of defiance the injured assassin bit into Ron's hand. Showing no reaction to the pain, Ron retrieved the blade he had stuck into the wooden floor moments before and stabbed the assassin's left biceps, giving it an angular twist as the blade penetrated the muscle. The additional pain prompted Choirboy to involuntarily open his mouth wider and scream again, allowing the blonde male to draw back his hand in a smooth, coordinated movement. Ron then ripped off a piece of his killer's sleeve with the other. Choirboy's renewed scream was once again muffled before it could begin, as Ron stuffed the cloth deep into his mouth.

Kim had just witnessed what was easily the coldest act of violence she had ever seen. For Kim Possible, the woman who had fought Shego and Monkeyfist, this was an awesome implication. While Ron had proven successful, it was a sickening triumph; one she didn't want to associate with her childhood friend. This 'victor; could only have been the 'Jason Bourne' that Nicky Parsons had warned her about. Kim tore her eyes away from Ron. During her hero years, both villain and hero had adhered to an unwritten code. Once the opponent was down and neutralized, the fight ended. What R…Jason Bourne was doing went against this code. He had won, but he still had a desire to inflict further violence upon his opponent, to continue to fight against someone who now couldn't.

"Why are you here? Who are you? What do you want from me?" Each question was punctuated by a dull thud. Despite her desires to the contrary, Kim's head turned back around to look upon the scene still playing out. She couldn't just step away; she had to see this nightmare through to the end.

Jason was leaning forward, his knee planted on the injured man's chest. His large hands were fixed to the sides of the crippled assassin's head, boxing his ears in a vice-like grip. When Ron made his next demand, Kim identified the source of the pounding.

"WHY DO YOU WANT ME DEAD? TELL ME!" The amnesiac assassin lifted his prey's head up slightly then slammed it back down on the floor, producing the harsh, dull thud.

His last demand delivered, Ron pulled out the torn sleeve he had stuffed into the man's mouth, expecting to free a flood of claims, pleas and answers. Instead, he received silence; a silence that spoke of a man's epic determination to take anything of use with him to the afterlife. Annoyed and grudgingly respectful, Ron continued to frisk Choirboy with his free hand, never breaking the locked gaze he maintained with his would-be killer. As he patted the right side of the man's torso, he felt a money belt under the torn shirt.

Showing the same, flowing coordination he had used, seconds earlier, to rip off the sleeve, Ron tore the elastic strap and threw the pouch towards his fearfully silent audience. With surprising skill, Marie caught the object, opened it up and inspected the contents, without needing any instructions. Kim looked at her with sympathy, easily sensing her need to attend to a task that pulled her attention from the scene before them. Marie's trembling hands removed two passports. One bore an Italian insignia and the other the English Coat of Arms. The vagabond also discovered several hundred dollars worth of cash, in varying currencies and denominations. But it was the discovery of a simple sheet of folded fax paper that drained all the color from her face.

"This is me!" Her terrified whisper sounded like a child's. "This is my picture! H…how did you get my picture?"

Tiffany meadows, who had remained pathetically silent beside her new friend, slid away from her and leaned against the doorframe. "What do you mean, Marie?"

"This is an Interpol 'wanted' notice!" Marie declared, thrusting the paper into the redhead's hands. "That's me! Us! Jason and me! But I haven't done anything! Not one thing! What did I do? Who would do this to me? What am I accused of doing?" Her voice, which had expressed both shock and fear a moment ago, now burned with an uncertain wrath and a strangled trepidation to what the answers to her questions might eventually mean.

Kim knew some of these answers that were bringing tears to her new companion's eyes. The same image of Ron/Jason that _'Man'_ had shown her in Dr. Director's office the day before was the same one imprinted at the top of the page, above an image of Marie. While she had no doubt about the 'who' that had done this, she couldn't believe the level of efficiency needed to distribute this information so quickly. Treadstone could probably offer her old friend, Wade Load, a few tips. If she wasn't so repulsed by their very existence, she would most probably be impressed by the extent of their resources.

Kim looked up from the faxed sheet and saw Ron, now standing in front of her, looking down at the creased paper in her hands. She hadn't heard, or otherwise sensed his approach; yet another skill he had studied and mastered since they had last been together. Her 'old' Ron, could not go seven steps in concealment without broadcasting it in some clumsy, but endearing fashion.

The man who had been lost to her for so many years slowly looked up and met her eyes. His sorrowed brown towards the anguish exhibited by his female friend, Marie, clashed with Kim's defiant green. And suddenly, in Kimberly Possible's hear she saw that he was there again, her Ron. At least, he now exhibited a healthier dose of her Ron than he had seconds before. The _'Jason monster'_ that had taken possession of his body had been, at least for the moment, banished back to whatever dark and haunted pit from which it had emerged. Kim hoped it would remain there for eternity, but she suspected that before this mission was complete, _"Jason Bourne'_ would, by necessity, re-emerge. But again, this was something she would happily deal with at a later time, it was the now that mattered to her most and at present that 'Now' possessed only her and Ron.

The dirty-blonde male broke their awkward, yet intense gaze and looked to Marie, his guilt clearly etched not only upon his face, but in his voice as well. "I…I'm sorry," he told her. "This is all because of me. This is my fault."

Before Kim could say anything, whether it be support or pacification, a quiet groan from the floor drew all three's attention back to the man who had brought the threat of death to them. The noise was a low amble of pain as Choirboy shifted his body to provide some self care to the injuries Ron had inflicted upon him. But the sound was more than enough to trigger a surprising response from Marie. Her shock and horror were overwhelmed by anger; anger at the violation of her privacy. As far as the various European authorities cared, she had already been judged and found guilty of an unspecified crime which she had no memory of ever committing. She could now, no, WOULD now, be hunted down and made to atone for this fictional offense.

With this singular and brutal thought she started to stalk across the floor to the wounded man. Her body stiff, yet composed and from her posture it was painfully clear that Jason's method of questioning earlier would be a mother's kiss compared to what she was prepared to do, if Choirboy failed to provide the answers she sought now.

"Don't do this!" Ron pleaded, intercepting her before she could take three steps.

"I have to know what I did," she informed him, looking up at him with eyes filling with tears and then hastily averting her face to the side so that Ron could not view her hesitation or vulnerability. Her voice choked off sentences as each were caught between sobs of draining emotion, but her face never met his. "I have to know what they say I did. How did they get my picture, Jason? I know this photograph they used and it's an old one. And the only copy I know about …knew about …belongs to my brother. How did they get it, Jason? What did they tell him that made him give this to them? Is he even still alive? I HAVEN'T DONE ANYTHING!"

Marie's body shook with impotent rage and Kim could empathize with the feeling. It was the same fury that had consumed her, seven years ago in Dr. Director's office. At that time, the Senior Agent had activated her duress signal, prompting a half-dozen field operatives to storm her office and subdue an irrational Kim Possible. It was this same helpless rage that had consumed Kim, for two days in one of Global Justice's seclusion cells, as her guards either ignored, or dismissed, her demands for information about Ron's fate.

Oh yes! She knew how this type of helplessness made the rage, and the need to expel it, so much stronger. A rage birthed from believing that someone you loved could be hurt, or even worse, and not knowing why. Only that whatever had been, or might have been, done to them had to be, somehow, connected to the life you had chosen to live. Knowing that someone truly special to you had paid the greatest of prices for your decisions was a crushing blow. The guilt and self-loathing for believing such a thing taking on an identity of it's very own within your soul.

The knowledge and thought of a horribly capable, amoral organization digging into your private past, talking to your friends and loved ones, telling them lies about your actions too illicit their cooperation generates a profound feeling of violation. If Marie's brother had been killed or injured by Treadstone, then this would be an extra reason to burn the organization to the ground and dance on the ashes. At this moment, Kimberly Anne Possible, had to acknowledge that she was looking, if not physically, at a mirror of her own emotions displayed on the face of the self-chosen Vagabond.

She sincerely hoped that the demons Marie now faced wouldn't be as horrible as hers had been. It had taken two years for her life to slowly unravel as she nurtured her grief. She had empty relationships, at Monique's urging, because the guy was hot and/or cute. She could see the rationalization and sometimes she needed the distraction to look forward to then spending Friday Night crying in her bedroom. Friday night … 'His Night', 'Ron Night'. She loved Monique to death, and she knew that these 'dates' purpose were more aimed towards acceptance then a 'good-time'. But she went on them anyway, most didn't hold up to her scrutiny for more than a month. And those few that did pass her critical eye usually broke things off because of the 'Ron baggage' she always carried. She didn't care though; they were only supposed to patch the Ron-shaped void in her life until the real Ron reappeared. She had stumbled along like this until the second worst day of her life came into being for her.

That 'second worst day of her life' came about when she woke up one morning and realized that she had been speaking about Ron at the breakfast in the past tense. As soon as she had recognized this, she had become empty inside. She would have descended into a lonely madness if not for the support of her family, Ron's family, Wade, her friends and even, surprisingly, some of the villains they faced. Senior Senior Sr., Drakken and Shego had rallied to help her. They all encouraged her, balancing her misery so that she could face each day with a fake smile and hollow laughter. Because of all of them, she was here now, sane and hoping to reclaim what Treadstone had stolen from her. And she would!

Ron halted Marie's advance by drawing her into a tight, comforting embrace after his words. And after a moment's hesitation, she welcomed it and returned it with a desperate fierceness. Kim's heart clenched at the display; it was an affectionate, not a passionate embrace, but seeing how his arms found their way around another woman brought her a sorrowing feeling of loss. Ron's next words chilled Kim's blood.

"You're right," he said, his words muffled as he had his head resting atop of Marie's head and her hair was pressed against his moving lips. "But I don't want you to do it, Marie. This is my fault, not yours so let me do this. I'll do whatever I have to; to make sure he tells me what he knows. I promise."

It was only a handful of short sentences, but they spun Kim's world on end for the hundredth time in the past 24 hours. Ron, the sweet, gentle boy from her childhood, was about to torture an injured man. Not Jason Bourne, but Ron Stoppable, or at least whatever remained of him in this haunted man's psyche. He was actually prepared to do this, not in the heat of battle or on an adrenaline high, but in the calmer aftermath of the encounter. He was prepared to methodically inflict whatever pain he needed to compel his captive to speak. And from the reservations in his voice, Kim, knew that he would do it. What kind of perversity could change a person this much? Treadstone had to be the purest evil she had ever encountered in her life.

During these seconds of tense communication between Marie and Ron, Kim managed to find her voice. While it wasn't as confident or commanding as she wanted it to be, it managed to gain their attention. "No, it's not okay," she insisted. "How can anything you plan to do to this guy be okay, Jason? He's beaten, defeated, and effectively neutralized. He's no threat to you, me, or anybody but you're still acting like he is."

"Listen, Jason, at some point, someone is going to have to find the courage to stop all of this madness and violence," she continued, almost pleading with him. "So why can't it be now? Why can't it be you? Trust me, Jason, you really don't want to do this and I'm sure that once Marie takes a moment to compose herself a little and reflect a bit, she won't want you to do it, either."

Ron looked into Marie's teary eyes and then at his Treadstone captive. He pondered Tiffany's words and tried to make up his mind. Finally, he spoke in a tired, lost voice.

"You make it sound like I have some kind of control here?" he said. "Like I asked somebody to send him to kill me, and that I can ask whoever produced that notice rescind it from circulation. But I didn't and I can't. Right now, Tiff, I have a whole lot of questions and no explanations. And right now, he's the only one here who knows anything. And I need answers! I don't know anything, but somehow I knew exactly how to stop him without killing him. I don't know if that scares you, but it sure as hell scares me! How can I do the things that I do and not know this? I have been shot and have money I cannot account for in my name, in SEVERAL names. If this was just me, then fine. But because of me, Marie has been dragged into this nightmare and she has a right to have answers. So if I get them easy or hard, I don't really care. I need to know the truth and if getting a little bit bloody will help Marie and maybe me, then what's one more sin to what I'm guessing must be an undoubtfully long tally?"

"Don't you see?" Kim argued, shaking her head in fierce disagreement. "I do. I care. Maybe you don't right now, but you will later. I know you will and then everything that you're planning to do will come back to haunt you. I know this because I know you. You're not unfeeling, uncaring. You're the sweetest and most considerate person I've ever met in my entire life. I know that things are confusing at the moment, but that's not an excuse to use torture and…and I won't let you hurt this man any more than he already is, not if I can help it. And don't think I'm doing this for him, I'm doing and saying this for YOU!"

Ron returned his gaze to Kim's eyes, allowing her to see both gratitude and indecision in his expression. He sighed, dropping a mental and emotional load from his shoulders. She could tell that he still didn't trust her, but he was clearly relieved that she had chosen to become his conscience. Gently, he slid his arms from around Marie and took her hands in his. Marie knew what he was asking of her. While he had accepted Kim's role as his conscience, he now needed Marie to release him from his promise and he couldn't bring himself to voice the request. With two, ragged nods, Marie granted him his release and clung, once more, to his chest.

Kim released the breath that she hadn't been aware she was holding, relieved that she had swayed Ron from his earlier intentions. Yet her green-eyed demon churned again inside, unhappy at seeing how easily Marie had molded her body to his. Wanting to divert herself from this scene, and to avoid further jealousy, she looked back to where Choirboy had been laying. With a shock, she realized that the Treadstone killer had taken advantage of the moral debate. And that while the three had discussed his fate, he had taken it into his own hands and slithered, silently, to the far wall.

The thick blood trail, linking him to his previous location, gave mute testament to the determination and will power needed to hoist himself up alongside the wall without making a sound. He looked back at his would-be executioners, half standing and half leaning against the sliding glass door that led to the narrow terrace. A cocky grin crawled across his battered and bleeding face as his eyes met the red-headed female. Kim's gasp drew both Jason and Marie to the spectacle of the injured assassin and when all eyes were clearly upon him, he shoved himself backward through the glass barrier that he was leaning against. He continued to drive himself back, across the terrace and through the rail. Jason making a worthless effort cross the room and stopping the suicide. Choirboy's expression became jubilant as he contemplated his last mission accomplished; and having it stamped as 'Success' in his mind. He was taking his secrets to the grave and denying his prey the answers they sought. What greater revenge could one man, one killer, have?

For Kim Possible, it was a surreal acknowledgement of the age-old saying 'Death before Dishonor'. Her scream caught in her throat, then leaked out as a low gasp, which merged with the true screams sounding from the pavement outside. The amnesiac 'Ron Stoppable', however, did not allow them a moment to contemplate the suicide they had just witnessed. He slung his rucksack over his shoulder and grabbed both of his companions by a hand. Half directing and half dragging the women behind him, Ron maneuvered them out of his apartment's front door, down the stairs and through the front foyer. They passed the dead body of the kindly, middle aged resident who had let him and Marie into the building fifteen minutes earlier. He did not allow time for grief, knowing that it would be better to be somewhere else when the French Police came looking for answers.

Kim denied the pain that her knee and chest were taking upon her movements and mind. This was it. This was real. There was now a dead body and the apartment upstairs that he had probably been _'thrown out of'_ had her and the fingerprints of two wanted individual's everywhere. By this time tomorrow she would probably be on that same Wanted List as Jason and Marie. And in several hours all of the Law Enforcement Community in Europe would be hunting her down. This was definitely one of those 'Diary' moments, and she had a sad feeling that there was going to be even more to come.

BOOYAH!! To my Beta, daccu65, for being … well… for being an awesome beta .

Read and Review People, this ain't no free-lunch ;-)…lol.


	6. Chapter 6

Why isn't my heart leaping out of my chest?

Why am I so composed?

I must look like some kind of…I FEEL like a robot. Maybe that's what I am, a machine, a biological machine with no emotion, only possessing the core programming to kill and maim. This is the stuff of sci-fi movies; all I'm missing is my very own Sara Connor. Actually, I think I already have that, two of them, in fact.

Was I always like this? I wish I knew. The way Tiffany spoke to me upstairs, the way she pleaded with me to not hurt…whoever that was, tells me that there must have been a time when I felt things like she does, like normal people do. Yet, the only emotions I seem to be able to feel are the gray and dark ones. The rest of the time, all I feel is detachment, disassociated with the people around me. It's like everyone around me feels these emotions, but I'm living in the eye of an emotional tornado.

Is this they type of person I am, someone who doesn't really existing unless I'm in the middle of some kind of brawl? No, I can't believe that. I mustn't believe that; if I do, I might as well just swallow a bullet right now. Tiffany said that she used to know me as a gentle and compassionate person and something inside of me tells me to believe her on this. But, if I was such a saint, why can I jump into a lethal fight without any hesitation? Why am I able to take these strange and frightening actions without taking the time to think them out?

How can I get into a fight to the death, then calmly watch my opponent jump to his death, then come up with a cold, calculated escape strategy, all within five minutes? I should be a jabbering idiot!

How can Tiffany show me this…almost perfect ideal of a person, insist that that's who I was once supposed to be, and remain blind to what I obviously am right now? Does she truly know me? I'm beginning to have my doubts, since whoever I once was to her, it seems to me that that person isn't home anymore and he failed to leave a forwarding address.

Even though I wonder about her stories, I can't doubt her determination to stick with me. I swear that she nearly broke my hand while we were coming down the staircase; she was holding it so tight. I had thought that it was some way to fight the pain in her knee and chest, but she didn't look like she was in pain when I turned to face her in the Foyer. She didn't look like she was in pain. Quite the opposite, she looked like she didn't want to be anywhere else in the world and she didn't intend on EVER letting go of my hand.

I should have been flattered but, given the situation's urgency, all I managed was minor annoyance. This was definitely NOT the time to contemplate the emotional neediness of a relationship that I couldn't even remember. There seems to be a…block, something that I can't really describe. I SHOULD remember her; she's certainly attractive enough to warrant remembering, even if that is a pretty sexist thing to say, even to yourself, but it's true. Not only that, she seems genuinely concerned about me, not too many people would charge at a psychopath, shouting out 'I'll take care of this, RUN!' Still, no matter how genuine, courageous and pretty she is, I can't help but feel uneasy whenever I look at her. Why? Why do I get this sinking feeling in my stomach, like sometime in the past, she strangled my puppy?

Why don't I feel the same easiness with Tiffany that I do with Marie?

I like Marie a lot; she's interesting and she always speaks her mind, honestly, without coming up with diplomatic language. She wears her emotions openly and even though I haven't known her for very long, I know that she carries no malice for anybody. Sure, I had to offer her a few thousand dollars worth of Euros, above a reasonable price to drive me to Paris, but she did so without hesitating. I suspect that if I negotiated a bit, she would have done so for only gas money and the opportunity to meet someone new and interesting. The money I offered was just a bonus, it got her out of the red and hell, I had, still have, plenty to spare.

For some reason, I can equate with Marie. There's just something…familiar about her. She's sort of like an old coat or an oversized Hockey Jersey that I've been wearing for years. She's comfortable, familiar, and 100% personalized. Somehow, I can identify with her…coatiness? So why can't I equate in the same way with Tiffany? She's like the absolute polar opposite; she's like a brand new leather jacket. She's all shiny, flashy, stiff, and something you would only wear out if you were trying to impress or if it was a special occasion, it's also really, really awk-weird to wear. Awk-weird? That's not a word! Where the hell did that come from? Anyway, this doesn't explain why I feel this uneasiness in my stomach whenever I look at her? Isn't she supposed to be my girlfriend? Why can't I accept the possibility that this obviously caring, attentive, beautiful and insanely protective woman is all mine, and why can't I be overjoyed at that?

Marie's right, Tiffany hasn't done anything to warrant this resentment I feel. In fact, she really stepped up to give me the advantage in the fight. I didn't say anything, since I didn't want to embarrass her, but I don't think that someone who didn't really care about me would have done that to give me the upper hand. Sure, maybe they weren't a BIG distraction, but she got the job done. There's nothing like mixing sex and violence to catch a guy's attention. Hmmm…sex, I wonder what it was like with her? Was it the intense, sweaty, wild-thing or was it some meaningful connection, like you read in those magazines aimed at teenaged girls and lonely housewives? I really wish I could remember, but like with everything of a personal nature, my memory's a day late and a dollar short. For now, I guess I'm best off following her lead and praying that she plays me straight. If I keep going like I am right now, stumbling around in the dark, I'm sure to replay that scene back upstairs. I really don't want to keep testing the odds with that sort of thing.

"Um, wouldn't this be a really good time to leave? I mean, the cops are going to show up pretty soon and we really don't want to talk to them, do we?" Marie's tentative question drew Jason out of inner musing.

Adjusting the red subcompact's rear-view mirror, Jason made eye contact with the nervous, young woman. She had stepped up a few minutes ago, helping him support Tiffany as the three of them had made their way across and down the street. Behind them, a growing flock of onlookers were dealing with the shock of seeing a man do a swan dive from a third story window and meeting a very…colorful…end on the sidewalk.

As soon as the trio had reached the undersized vehicle, Marie had slid, wordlessly, into the back seat, pushing aside a weeklong accumulation of fast food packaging and beverage containers. Her silent choice of a seat had given him and Tiffany the front seats, a necessity given the redhead's injuries. It had taken Tiffany several, agonizing seconds to painfully lower herself into the front passenger seat, seconds that had him on edge while he scanned the growing crowd for anyone paying too much attention to them.

Now, the two passengers and the driver sat silently, watching the chaos 30 meters in front of them. Some inner directive obligated Jason to remain stationary behind the wheel and make no effort to merge with the vehicle traffic. Unfortunately, Marie did not share this discipline. She wanted to be as far away from this locale as possible. Jason glanced sideways at his copilot; it was clear that his newly discovered girlfriend shared the younger woman's desires to be elsewhere.

Jason returned his gaze to the mirror and spoke without making any effort to meet her eyes. He didn't know where his words were coming from, in fact he was also wondering why he hadn't driven off yet, but his impulses and instincts were directing him and they hadn't let him down so far.

"When we left the building, everyone was still in their first stage of reaction after seeing a shocking incident," he informed his recent companion. "The shocking incident being, of course, Mr. Smiley becoming one with the sidewalk. This initial reaction is to rush toward the event and determined what just happened. This reaction actually worked for us, as nobody paid attention to us while they were trying to get to Paris's newest piece of sidewalk art. While this initial reaction lasts for, on average, a minute and a half, there are going to be overachievers and underachievers in any crowd. Therefore, some in that crowd are already in the second stage of reaction."

"This stage is one of asking why the shocking event occurred," Jason continued. "During this stage, the typical bystander is trying to figure out why this happened. Typical symptoms include questioning those nearby and looking for unusual things and events." Jason now caught Marie's eyes through the mirror, "therefore, two people supporting an injured redhead would not have garnered a second glance during the first stage of reaction, but a subcompact trying too hard to merge with daytime traffic will gain a great deal of attention during the second stage."

"The third, and in our case most dangerous stage, is one of deduction," Ron came to the ending of his lecture. "During this time, an individual starts to review his or her memories of the time before, during, and after the event. At this time, at least one of those bystanders is going to remember the two people assisting the injured redhead, and start recalling which direction we were traveling. So, we play a dangerous game; we wait for a break in traffic and drive off, like it's just another day for us." He took a deep breath, "we don't want to draw attention to this car."

Kim gently reached out and took hold of Ron's forearm. She had watched his face carefully during his explanation and he didn't seem to be speaking from personal experience. Rather, he seemed to be reciting a lecture, or regurgitating lessons Mr. Barkin had driven into his head. When she contacted his arm, he turned his attention away from the Bohemian and turned it on the redhead.

"Why? What's so special about this car?" She asked, trying to start a comfortable, diverting dialogue.

"Aside from it being mine, you mean?" The very snippy reply, coming from the back seat, irritated Kim.

"No, I-"

"Because there's a good chance that they don't know what we're driving, that's what," Ron's voice interrupted what had the potential of being a very good cat fight. "Because if they knew what we were driving, the border guards would have probably had orders to halt the car and detain the occupants."

"That guy, whoever he was, must have been staking out my place for quite some time," Jason continued his instruction. "He didn't just 'luck' in on me, not with the equipment he had. No, at the very latest, he must have been in the building since early this morning. This means that whoever he worked for must have been circulating information about me, and Marie, since at least a couple of hours before this morning. Since nobody was watching for this car, we'll work under the assumption that nobody is looking for it. So, for the time being, we have clean transportation."

Kim leaned back in her seat and marveled at Ron's deduction. While she found flaws in his reasoning, it was only because she knew exactly what was pitted against them, unlike Marie and her former sidekick. If Ron's estimated time frame was accurate, and she suspected that it was, then it meant that Treadstone was already amassing its intelligence on the pair and manipulating Interpol to help flush Jason Bourne out into the open, even while she was flying to France. This meant that there were plans working within plans and all of them culminated in the murder of one Ronald Dean Stoppable.

"So, you're saying that we wait here, right?" Marie's question was delivered in a plaintive tone.

"Yes."

"For how long?"

Marie's whiney and impatient question drew a growl out of Kim's throat. She didn't know if her sudden anger was due to the situation or the undercurrent of jealousy she felt for the younger woman. All of her Kim-ness asserted itself, prompting her to snarl, "For as long as it takes, that's how long! God, don't you understand what just happened? Do you want to risk exposure because you don't feel like waiting? You're worried, I get that, but R…Jason's right. We have to play this smart, not fast. We wait for an opportunity and then we act. If you feel the need to leave then go, but the risk is yours don't drag him or me into your suicide bid, understand?"

With the last word spoken, Kim's face froze as her brain only now caught up with her mouth. She quickly averted her gaze to the passenger window beside her so that she could avoid the now hard look being directed towards her by 'Jason'. She had wanted Ron to pay attention to her, but not like this. Never like this. The last thing she wanted him to think was that she was some unstable bunny-boiler. And right now she would have happily offered her right arm and sold her soul for the ability to shrink into a little ball and find some dark corner that would permit her to hide from his glare.

The sniffs and sobs coming from the back seat only made her feel worse about what she had just done. She had experience dealing with these types of extreme situations; a normal civilian would have been out of their depth. Kim's harsh and unforgiving outburst had been the last straw for Marie, releasing the fear and confusion that she had been so valiantly holding at bay since the attack. Ron turned his body so that he could face the sobbing woman in the back seat. The car's small size caused his shoulder to strike Kim's during his maneuver. The chilly vibe he emanated during this short contact made Kim wonder if this was accidental contact or a minor assault. His soft, reassuring words, directed into the back seat brought tears to Kim's eyes, wishing that they were directed at her, instead.

"It's alright to be scared, Marie," he informed her. "Given this insanity, I'd be stumped if you weren't. But you have to remember that fear makes people desperate and desperation can make people do foolish, impulsive things. So its times like now where we cannot afford to become desperate; understand? We can be scared but we cannot be desperate. We have a plan of action; it's a short range plan, to be honest, but it is a plan. As long as we stay the course, we'll be fine. Trust me, Marie; I won't let anything happen to you. That's a promise and nobody here thinks any worse of you for being frightened. Tiffany and I have different ways of dealing with what scares us, that's all. I direct these things inwards and Tiff snaps at people. Hell, something deep inside tells me that I'm probably more of an expert on being afraid than anyone else in the world."

Despite the circumstances, Kim couldn't help but chuckle at the truth of what 'Jason' had just said. Soon, this chuckle became a giggle, then a laugh at the memories inspired by Ron's last remark. Jason's expression softened into something almost welcoming as he turned to face Kim, who had her hand over her mouth in a vain attempt to restrain her humor. Just like that, the anger he had developed for her moments before was no more. Instead, he affected an expression of humorous hurt, which caused her heart to glow. Now, she had an opportunity to repair the insult she had leveled at her…rival? And reinstate some favor with the amnesiac.

"Expert?" She demanded of Marie, in a mock question. "Let me drop a bombshell, Marie, and tell you that Jason has a PhD in 'Applied Fear' and had even secured a grant to pursue further studies in the subject."

Marie's soft frown became a hesitant smile, shortly before she shared a single, light bark of laughter at Jason's expression of emotional betrayal.

"You realize, of course, that she's just saying that to make you feel better," Jason murmured to her, under his breath. "I couldn't have been that bad."

"Oh, really?" She demanded again, laughing again, sincerely, for the first time in days. "So says the person who's famed battle cry was 'Not in the face, not in the face,' and endlessly practiced his 'Screams of Courage."

Ron turned his torso to face Kim; his eyes twinkling with a familiar expression that made her heart first stop and then restart at a quadruple rate. The left side of his mouth twitched upwards, leaving him with a boyish smile that she had missed for so long. Fighting down the sudden temptation to clamp her own mouth onto that goofy smile, she realized that, aside from some generic comments that he was a good person; this was the first time she had made a reference to his personality back when he was, truly, Ron Stoppable.

In this moment of recollection, Kim found herself caught. She remembered her earlier debates between revealing everything to Ron in one shot or parceling his memories to him in selected doses. She knew so little about the psychology and medical science relating to brain trauma and memory loss. The last thing she wanted was to make things worse for him with impulsive action, but the 'real' Ron Stoppable seemed so close at this moment! In their earlier adventures, she and Ron had changed bodies, experienced manipulated emotions, learned about enforced honesty, and had their IQ's influenced, yet they had never lost their memories. Wait! She HAD lost her memories; she just didn't remember it immediately. Kim suppressed a moan at the irony behind that last thought and struggled to recall… "DR. LANGFOOT!!!"

Marie and Jason shared a puzzled glance over the unexpected exclamation. Jason recovered first and asked, "Who-what? Langfoot? Is he, or she, someone I know?"

"Yes…no…kinda," Kim stammered. "He invented this machine called the MRM, the Memory Recovery Machine. It was designed to help people like you, who were prone to forgetting things, like where they left their car keys."

"Riiiiight," Ron's sarcastic expression was almost as endearing as his goofy grin. "'Cause what I'm going through is nearly as annoying and troublesome as not being able to start your car."

"Okay, bad example," Kim conceded, with a wave of one hand. "But the science is sound and he spent five years developing a helmet to apply it. I can tell you from experience that it works and not just for short-term memory. That helmet could both retrieve and obscure long-term memories, as well."

"How do you know? I mean how can you be so sure?"

Kim wished that she could avoid Marie's questions but she knew that if the vagabond had thought of them, Ron was already pondering the same issues. Almost unconsciously, Kim's hand sought Ron's and seized it in a firm grip; she knew that this particular adventure would sound absurd to him. Looking back on the majority of their missions, she had to admit that they were more an amusing collection of anecdotes than world-saving and life-or-death adventures. Yet now she finally realized the pain and inadequacy Ron must have felt during those two days when she was able to recall all aspects of her history and friendships, with the exception of dating her weird best friend.

When she eventually regained all of her memories about Ron, she had laughed and made jokes. Ron, to his credit, had joined in on the humor and had taken the digs with good grace. Now, however, she realized the emptiness that he must have experienced when she had looked upon him with no recollection of what they had been to one another. It sucked…flock of mutant mosquitoes bad.

During those 48 hours of obliviousness, she was numb to the pain and distress her memory blank was causing her boyfriend, and after she found it all hysterical. It had taken until now, this very moment, when she was out of her own mind with worry over how 'Jason's' present condition could affect their interrupted relationship that she understood the weight of loss and emptiness he must have felt. He had, as a teenager, handled the sitch for two days; she was barely keeping her anxieties and insecurities in check after only twenty minutes. With a deep breath, followed by a sigh, the redhead opened her mouth to answer.

"Because I found myself the recipient of a memory wipe," Kim answered Marie, even though her eyes were locked with Ron's. She refused to turn away from those brown-orbs of perfection and caramel-chocolate goodness. She needed him to see her expression, to read her own eyes and to know that she could appreciate the uncertainty he was feeling. She needed him to know that she had once lived that life, if even for a brief moment. This was their bond now, something that Marie could not emphasis with; something that was strictly between her and Ron. "It was temporary and different to what Jason has experienced though, mainly because it was science gone wrong, rather than physical or physiological trauma. I was able to eventually able to regain all of my memories, with time and a little prompting. I was able to recall everything, fit it all together again, all mainly because and due to … to Jason's patience. But the real point I'm trying to make here is not about me and what I went through, it's that there a possible solution to all of this, and if there is anyone on the planet who is capable of restoring memories then it's Dr. Langfoot."

To her surprise, Kim felt Ron's hand relax in her grasp, when hearing the possible solution. An exhilarating thrill ran through her; as up until this moment, Ron/Jason had always been tense and rigid whenever they had shared physical contact. Now she felt on par with Marie. Fighting hard to suppress the green-eyed monster lurking inside her, she had to concede that her jealousy towards the beautiful and younger, hippy-esk character arose not from the woman's attractive appearance or her youth, but rather as a result of Ron's apparent comfort with the European traveler. But now Ron was starting to show that same 'trust' and comfort with her. In her mind, Kim mentally ticked off a point in an imaginary scoreboard beside her name, finally taking the lead against the other two contestants – _Nicky Parson's_ and _Marie 'Something-or-Other'_.

"Is this Langfoot person in Paris, Europe?" Ron asked, showing more excitement than Kim had seen him exhibit yet today. "Can we see him quickly? Now?"

'Tiffany' shook her head and watched, grieving, as the excitement drained from Ron's eyes at her answer. It was like watching a life fade away. Ron slid his hand from hers and returned it to the steering wheel, his features now fixated on the activity ahead. Frantically and impulsively, Kim also searched out the street ahead, the old habits of second-guessing Ron impossible to completely suppress. In her peripheral, middle-distance vision, she saw emergency lights emerge through the congested traffic ahead. One set of lights belonged to an ambulance; the other was probably on a police car.

Ron looked down at a very expensive diving watch and murmured to himself. "Five minutes. Who said that there's never a cop around when you need one?" He turned the key and gently revved the motor. Kim didn't need to ask what he was planning to do, or if he was an idiot to make this 'bolt' for freedom at the same moment the _Surete Nationale_ (French National Police) arrived on the scene. It took all of a crafty second to understand that this was the distraction that Ron/Jason had been patiently waiting for. The various onlookers would be so entranced by the arrival of 'The Law' and the flashing lights that a nondescript vehicle could easily join with traffic and become anonymous. The police themselves would be too distracted trying to bring order to the chaos surrounding the blood-smeared footpath to even look up from their assorted duties.

The Police Renault compact stopped just outside of the milling crowd and, within seconds, two crisply uniformed police officers emerged, parting the crowd for the arriving ambulance. The two officers quickly and efficiently directed it as close as possible to the mashed body, without compromising the potential crime scene.

Taking advantage of the men's professional activities, Ron gently slipped into traffic, with a casualness that was very unnerving to Kim. Kim held her breath as they passed the stationary Renault, certain that Marie was mirroring her action and praying for success. As he passed the ambulance, Ron raised his right index and middle fingers to the paramedics, who were removing a gurney and a body bag from the back. One of the men caught the gesture of sympathetic support and returned a nod of appreciation.

As the flashing lights dimmed into the background, Kim and Marie released their breath at the same time. Suddenly, a giddy sensation overcame them and they both emitted small, nervous giggles, delighted at their escape. The only one who kept his composure, and his eyes on the road, was Ron. It was strange to see Ron, even under the guise of Jason Bourne, appear so focused. He was the most emotional guy Kim had ever met, never assuming the 'boy's don't cry and men don't complain' stereotype, that most teenaged males acquired. Kim had loved him all the more because he always wore his emotions so openly; there was never any guesswork about his moods and feelings. Now, however, he was just blank. Was this stoicism a result of Treadstone's conditioning or was it a result of losing his memories? She didn't know but it seemed very unnatural to her. Just like that, her glee at evading capture flip-flopped into another depressing thought, centering around the man Ron had now become.

The man who had assumed the name of Jason Bourne seemed to sense an increase in tension. In an effort to relax the atmosphere, he turned on the vehicle's radio and scanned for an English Language station. Fortunately, Marie had already programmed her favorite stations, so it only took a matter of moments before some upbeat music filled the small car.

As the music continued to pour out of the speakers, Kim heard her 'backseat sister', at least for this adventure, tapping her fingers in time with the beat. Kim tried to suppress her own anxieties, grateful of Ron's effort to calm the situation. Music certainly possessed a universal soothing effect, even helping to calm three people who had just witnessed an assassin choose death over questioning. Kim just wished that the station wasn't playing, of all possible songs, _Tainted Love'_ by Soft Cell. It certainly didn't help that the man next to her, spurred by the song's distinctive chorus, decided to sing along in a soft, mellow voice. Somehow, the great god of the airwaves had seen fit to punish her, cruelly subjecting her to a song whose lyrics seemed to emphasize her situation, with the man she loved.

'_**Sometimes I feel I've got to**_

_**run away, I've got to**_

_**Get away,**_

_**From the pain you drive into the heart of me.**_

_**The Love we share**_

_**Seems to go nowhere,**_

_**And I've lost my light**_

_**For I toss and turn – I can't sleep at night**_

_**Once I ran to you (I ran)**_

_**Now I run from you,**_

_**This tainted love you've given**_

_**I give you all a boy could give you**_

_**Take my tears and that's not nearly all**_

_**Oh …. Tainted Love,**_

_**Tainted Love.**_

_**Now I know I've got to**_

_**Run away, I've got to**_

_**Get away**_

_**You don't really want any more from me**_

_**To make things right**_

_**You need someone to hold you tight**_

_**And you think love is to pray**_

_**But I'm sorry I don't pray that way.**_

_**Once I ran to you (I ran)**_

_**Now I run from you,**_

_**This tainted love you've given**_

_**I give you more then a boy could give you**_

_**Take my tears and that's not nearly all**_

_**Oh …. Tainted Love,**_

_**Tainted Love.**_

_**Don't touch me please**_

_**I can't stand the way you tease.**_

_**I love you though you hurt me so**_

_**Now I'm going to pack my things and go,**_

_**Tainted Love, Tainted love**_

_**Tainted love, tainted love.**_

_**Touch me baby, tainted love**_

_**Touch me baby, tainted lo*'**_

Tears began to gather in Kim's eyes and she knew that if she had to listen to the chorus again, she would lose her composure in a 'Britina shaving her head' kind of way. In an desperate effort to take control and not have this vulnerability noticed or questioned, Kim's hand darted out to the off-switch, the action immediately bringing instant regret as she felt the unsympathetic pinch of her ribs as her motion caused her to temporarily strain against the seatbelt. But despite the sharp stab of pain she welcomed the immediate discomfort as it provided her mind to enflame itself upon the circumstances of the present and not wallow again in the memory of the sadden past.

'_Tiffany'_ rapidly turned her head away to draw in the view of her window as the Paris back streets skimmed passed her, trying her best to ignore the faded reflection of the vehicle's driver looking at her from over her shoulder.

The pause of silence in the cabin was in itself a deafening thing. But she had abolished herself in the strategy of wanting to play a part in their next tactic of evasion and freedom and to not allow herself to simply go with the 'flow' of circumstances. This was not who she was. She had always been a _'take charge' _person, and though she had always admired Ron's ability to always think on his feet and play with the card's Fate had dealt him. But with the stakes as high as they were she at least needed to know what they were going to do next and to contribute, to take a measure of control and she could not do that if her mind was repeatedly being subjected to haunted memories, regret's, guilt and _'what could have been'_ scenario's.

It was this _'take charge'_ flaw that she now found herself feeling very isolated and alone. Without turning her head to engage the pair, she chose to weather and break the uncomfortable silence with an apology and explanation to her actions.

"Music is great, and it can settle all kinds of crazy nerves. But I think we have bigger things to concern ourselves with, don't you?"

The silence continued for a painful moment after her question settled into the ears of the two, the only interruption was by _'Jason'_ as he effortlessly and skillfully changed gears.

It was clear, even without Kim taking her eyes away from their affixed place outside her passenger side window that Marie was anxiously waiting for Ron to first break the ice on the topic. And in truth, Kim, couldn't really blame her because she also was eagerly awaiting his input as well. When they were growing up and doing Mission's, Ron's contributions to conversation's always had her and others around them roll their eyes in bemusement or frustration. But this _'new'_ Ron was different. He had become _'The Man'_, and as sexist and misogynist as this title was for her to accept she could not deny that up until this moment it was Ron/Jason Bourne who had saved their lives and kept them calm and centered enough to escape a potentially near inescapable situation.

What was her role?

What part did the _'I-Can-Do-Anything'_ Girl play?

Nothing, that's what. She had been next to useless. No, even worse then useless. At least Marie was able to hand Ron the kitchen knife, what did she do? Set the female _'Movement'_ back 50-years by allowing herself to be ogled. Did she resent her contribution? No, it was certainly deemed necessary at the time. But it had left her feeling unappreciated and very, very trashy. And Kim suspected that this is the trouble with always being seen as the _'Hero'_, even if it's only by yourself, when someone else comes along and usurps you there exists this feeling of worthlessness and loss of confidence. She never thought for a moment as she was growing up that her 'Alpha-female-ness' could have been detrimental to other's. Even though on several occasion's her mother and father had practically pulled her aside and told her not to be as competitive. On every occasion it had always centered around Ron, maybe they knew what was better for him then she did, or maybe she was so driven by her own ego to be successful and popularly thought of that she did not understand the message they were trying to tell her at the time. When Ron surpassed her at B.N. as Employee of the Month. When he got his stylin' new Hair cut. When he revealed himself to being a Master in the Kitchen. These things always annoyed her because she thought that in Ron's independent success that it would somehow diminish her. Now she found herself sitting in a Ron that had always been reserved for him, looking to someone else to make the tough calls.

Eventually the sound of Ron's voice cracked through her ponderings. There was no harshness or authority in it. There was a tone of acceptance and humbleness. And it seemed to Kim as though he was reciting advice more then formulating a coarse of action. Advice that he had been mulling around in his head for several moment's, another drastic difference between Ron of old and this 'Jason'-Ron. This one actually thought carefully about what he would say before he opened his mouth.

"Your right. But I just thought our brains could do with a break from the insanity. When you think in panic that's when you do the least rational and advisable thing. When you strategize you need to be analytical and aware of all factors and not just the immediate ones. But we do need to lay out a plan of what to do next. And at the top of that list, as far as I am concerned, is to find someplace safe for us to pull over and then go our separate ways."

"What?!?" Shrieked from the rear seat.

Using the rearview mirror as his only contact for the Bohemian, Ron's eyes penetrated into Marie's as he answered her question. "Whatever's happening, Marie, center's around me. Not you. Not Tiffany. Me! Your inclusion in it is supplemental to being associated to me. What I want is for both of you to wait a couple of hour's and then go to the nearest Police Station. Report to them who you are and then say that I kidnapped you. That I took you hostage. That I lost my mind. Whatever you have to say about me in order to get yourselves well clear of this mess, just say it. You have my permission to make me out as being the worst type of person you can think of me for being."

"You mean lie?"

"Yes, lie if you have too. Tell them I forced you to transport me from Zurich. That you don't know what it is I did or why I did it. But that you had no part in it. Say that I had a gun on you the entire time. And if they doubt it, then tell them to check out whatever security footage they have on me at the Embassy we met. But my guess is that they'll probably interview you for a few hours. But as you know as much about me as I do I think they'll realize pursuing you as a source to finding me would be an effective waste of their time."

Like a spoilt child who had just been told she had to eat all her vegetables before she got dessert, Marie crossed her arms over her chest and intentionally broke the eye contact that she and Jason were sharing. "And what about her? She knows you. What if they ask your girlfriend about you? Do you expect her to lie? Do you expect them to believe her when she says she doesn't know anything about you?"

Kim could not escape in her mind the harshness of the questions being laid down by the other female. It almost seemed to her that Marie totally believed that she was the type of person who would sell Ron/Jason out in order to save her own skin.

"They probably know about Tiffany already. To co-ordinate this on the timescale they had they must have already have vetted into my past and my association's. The fact that she was not on that Wanted Notice and we were tells me that whatever I did must have been recent. This is why they have tied you in with me. Tiffany probably has an alibi for the timeframe that exempts her from suspicion. You however, Marie, live in your car and don't have any fixed abode. Therefore you are a possible partner for whatever I must have done."

"Done? We don't know if you've done anything!!!"

"Marie, look at the facts!"

"Okay, fact's aside though. What if your wrong? What if by us going to the Police we will all but be walking straight into the Lion's Den?"

Ron's eyes returned to the now moving traffic in front of him. "Marie, you've done nothing wrong! Your innocent, the moment they speak to either of you they'll know that without question. I'm the one they want. Why, I don't know? But my guess is that I pretty much deserve all of this. And the sooner you both separate yourself from me the better it will be for you in the long run. I'm nothing but a liability to your lives."

"You don't know that."

The statement was soft, almost a whisper. But Kim could hear the troubled emotion behind Marie's closing words of the argument. The cocky and street-smart tone that had been forever traveling in her voice from the very moment Kim had met her now became lost to doubt and worry. Not towards her own extraordinary circumstance in this extreme adventure of theirs, but rather towards the fate of the male now choosing to travel it apart from her.

Kim had hoped that Ron had been too focused on the street ahead to have caught the soft and sorrowed words, but it was a fool's hope. "Marie, your life, *both* of your lives, are far to important to take the gamble that I'm wrong."

"So that's it then? You decide and us poor fragile girl's have to abide by it, is that what your saying?"

Ron's tone became regretful. Carrying a load of dire emotions to the nightmare he had invited upon the lives of his current traveling companion's. "It's for the best, you and Tiffany**"

Kim fist banged down upon the dashboard in front of her. She had invited this discussion to take place, but she was not prepared to speak until she knew the minds of the male and female. And as she thought, both were trying to set themselves up as martyrs for the other. And in this she could not contain her silence any longer.

"I think I have a say in this as well, don't you, _Jason_? And I'm with Marie. Going to the French Police is a bad idea. Because the people who could orchestrate both your faces on a Flyer for an Apprehension Order 'with Extreme Caution' sure as hell would have the clout to detain us in a cell and then pick us off like fish in a barrel at a time convenient to them."

Kim watched as Ron's finger's tightly curled and gripped the steering wheel in front of him. She didn't know if this reaction was because she had challenged him, or whether her argument was sound enough to blow his to pieces. All she did know was that Ron would have to address her concerns before any action was taken.

"But I don't know what it is I've done! I could be some kind of mass-murderer. All I do know is that I have money in the million's, with a half-dozen fake passport's all with my face in them. I also have a healing bullet wound to my chest and some kind of a reflective-memory to both harm and kill other people. So between you, me and Marie, I recon there is a pretty good chance I've probably done something god-damn awful in the past to suddenly be warranting the attention I'm getting now. Don't you see that being far away from me is better for your health and happiness then being side-by-side with me? This thing is going to get a whole lot worse before it has any chance of getting better and I want you both spared from that."

Kim couldn't argue with anything Ron just said, he was absolutely right. This wasn't going to go away. It had to stop before it descended into all different kinds of chaos. But there was only one group of people who could stop this before it got that way, unfortunately it was the same group of people who had gotten it started in the first place. She needed to contact Treadstone and call off their pursuit of Ron/Jason Bourne.

"We need to stop somewhere private where I can call somebody."

"Are you out of your freaking mind? My face is on a ten-most wanted list and you want to 'Phone-a-Friend?' No-way."

Kim half-turned in her seat and addressed Marie directly, instantly regretting the action as a spasm of pain again shot through her ribs as she did. "Trust me when I say that this is not a 'Friend'. But it is someone who might be able to help."

Before Marie could respond to the cryptic explanation of aid, Ron's spoke with a firm command. "Okay."

"WHAT!?!"

"I said, _'okay'_. Look, I'm not going to go dragging either of you around. You know my thoughts and what I would like the pair of you to do. But I am not going to force you to do something you don't want to do, even if it is for your own good. If Tiffany wants to call someone, she can. If you want to call someone, your brother for instance to set your mind at rest, you can do that as well."

Kim involuntarily shook her head as Marie's eyes shone at the suggestion Ron just made to call her big brother in England. It was more then Kim could bear to speak the next words to her traveling companion. "That's probably not a smart move at the moment. For all we know there might be people having his communications under surveillance just waiting for you to do just that. The authorities, as far as we all know at present, aren't looking for me. It would be best if you two stay concealed and safe until things are resolved."

Marie sadly nodded her head, Kim couldn't help but steal a glance at Ron. The transformation caused a sadistic smile to cross her face as the Mini's driver stared angrily at the traffic in front of him. _Nice try, Ron. Get us both out making telephone calls at the same time, giving you the chance to drive away. Not happening, Mister. I'm not going to find you only to lose you again because I was careless. You and me are joined at the hip. What happens to you, happens to me_.

88888

A/N : Sorry for the long time in updating this story. Believe me, it was not intentional. I had a bit of an accident a while ago and it took me out of commission for a bit .

As always, a Special Thanks goes to Beta Extraordinaire : Daccu65 for having the patience to put up with me …lol.

Review's are the _Coin of the Realm_, and I'm greedy ;-)…lol.

_Next Chapter_ : Kim talks to Conklin from Treadstone about Ron and it doesn't go entirely as well as she thought it would. And Ron decides that he has had enough of secrets and that extreme situation's call for extreme actions. He wants to know who _'Jason Bourne'_ really is and he's not prepared to let _Tiffany_ deflect the question any longer.


	7. Chapter 7

'Keep a mental picture of the foyer's layout. Know where all the exits, accesses, doorways, (elevators?)Lifts, stairs, security cameras are. Know where the hotel's staff and security personnel are stationed. Be aware of the blind spots and the 'huddling points' where you can merge with other visitors, so that you can easily blend into their group, if needed. Walk with purpose and don't slow your stride or hesitate. Ask questions but don't answer any. When you MUST ask questions keep them brief and to the point. Always pay cash and tip slightly beyond the accepted amount; this will make you fade from the service personnel's memory. If anyone asks who you are, just say that you are visiting a guest. Never give a name; just a room number, something generic, like Room 612. Keep eye contact and don't fidget or try to look as though you are trying to conceal your face, but don't be brash or appear as though you want to be noted. When you get to the hotel's 'Business Centre', ask for a private office with full access to personal fax, copier, Internet and a private phone line, that isn't relayed through a switch. You won't need the other stuff but if you just ask for a phone, they will wonder why you didn't just go somewhere else. Give them the impression that you will need it all, this is a high flyer hotel so they are expecting to offer a confidential service to their clients without asking unnecessary questions. Finally, ask for an office with a view of the outside, preferably overlooking the hotel's main entrance, so that you can see your client arrive. Have you got that?'

The directions were simple, the reasoning was sound. Ron, or _'Jason Bourne'_ as he was going by now, was perhaps … maybe, being overcautious but Kim found it strangely touching in a totally paranoid type of way. The fact that he was being so thorough with his parameter's showed her how much he valued her safety. The fact that he was entrusting her to execute this mission, without him being there to supervise her, told her that he also trusted her enough to do this on her own. Sure, he wasn't prepared to risk the chance that the 5-Star 'Imperial Hotel' hadn't already received a copy of the 'Wanted Sheet', clearly identifying his features under its 'Approach with Full Caution' headline. Still, letting her go solo demonstrated his trust for her and she took this as a victory, small as it might seem. At least she knew he was concerned about her, even if he was acting like an overprotective big brother.

Aggh!!!! Brother?!?! As quickly as this alien thought entered her head she tried, hard, to expel the complete 'Wrong-Sick Alert Factor 10'. What she wanted to do with Ron went far beyond 'Jim and Tim' territory. A coy smile paraded itself across her lips, a smile that was immediately cancelled out by a sad realization. She had dreamed of Ron being her first and she knew that Ron had shared this expectation. But he had been taken away from her before that happened. Her first time was with a senator's son, a man who had a politician's understanding of persuasion. She was miserable, lonely and he promised to make her feel better. When the sun rose the next day, all she felt was remorse. Her 'gift' was given away with tears and as for Ron, if she was to believe what Parsons had told her earlier that day; he had surrendered his with contempt and loathing. Both gifts, which should have been exchanged with each other, had been thrown away like unwanted burdens. How could you regain that type of purity? How could you clean yourself up enough to be free from the tarnishes of other men? Treadstone had done more than take and twist; they had befouled and perverted.

Kim felt a stray tear trickle down her cheek and she rushed to wipe away the evidence of her misery, before people walking past her could take note. Despite the risks, the decision to use this hotel was a good idea. She had no doubt that Treadstone would immediately start to trace her call, once she made contact. Given the extent of their resources, it would take them only moments to pinpoint her location. Nicky had instructed her to contact them from a hotel. Sure, she had suggested using the Kim Possible passport, discretely, as an alert to their system but Kim wasn't a professional spy so they would probably offer a bit of leeway. The fact that Marie and Ron were safely parked a block and a half away gave them enough of a safety berth so if things did sour they could escape safely.

She hadn't thought that her companions would agree with her suggestion, to use the exclusive hotel too make confidential contact with Treadstone 71, but she had been wrong. Still, her choice of facilities wasn't as random as she had led the two to believe. She had selected The Imperial for two reasons: First, she was already familiar with the place. This was her usual lodging, whenever she stayed in Paris for any length of time. She was already a familiar sight, at least to many of the long-term employees and wouldn't be subject to the questions she might receive in another establishment.

The second reason was to both test Ron's memory and subtly nudge it. This was the same hotel that Wade would repeatedly arrange stays at, whenever a mission in France required an overnight stay. She and Ron had many enjoyable days and evening together in Paris and this hotel always played the centerpiece of those memories. Even though nothing…hormonal…had ever taken place (they had not even started looking at each other with romantic eyes at that stage) they had taken the opportunity to play 'Grown-Ups' and share a room, even if that room did come with two single beds. During the days, they would do the typical tourist activities; visiting the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower. After sundown, they would eat dinner at one of the city's finer restaurants, which just happened to be conjoined with the hotel. She couldn't go as far as to call these activities dates; they were merely outings with her best friend. Yet, they held a special place in her memory and she hoped that some aspect, inside the muddled mess that was Ron/Jason's mind, retained the same, cherished memory. These same, cherished memories caused her to stay here whenever she could; every step and every croissant triggering golden memories of her and Ron spending them together, an ocean away from the 'rents, with only a naked mole rat to chaperone them.

Unfortunately, the name didn't spark any sort of reaction in her former partner. No matter how precious these memories were to her, Ron showed no reaction when she suggested the name.

Her leather boot heels clicked against the floor tiles, sounding out her confident and decisive stride. She knew the way to the Business Centre, so she didn't pause to consult the lobby's directory. Yet, despite her familiarity with her surroundings, she couldn't forget how serious her mission was. For this reason, she was following Ron's instructions to the letter. Kim Possible knew, better than most others, that this paranoia, the same paranoia that had caused Marie to exhibit a strange mixture of fear and bemusement, was completely justified. Kim would not underestimate these people's resources or dedication to fulfilling their objectives.

Kim dug her hand into her inner coat pocket and felt the contents. This was her 'Treadstone' pocket, the leather jacket's only one that was equipped with a zipper, to ensure the contents wouldn't accidentally fall out. There was the half-inch thick envelope full of Euros, the two passports (one under her true identity and the other under the fictitious, Tiffany Meadows identity) and the key she had used to access Ron's Parisian apartment, and a single sheet of paper.

Without any thought, her fingers seized the paper and pulled it out. What was printed on the paper was information more valuable than the Euros in the envelope, at least to her. Printed on the single, plain sheet were Ron's apartment address and her contact number for Nicky Parsons. This number was her only gateway to Treadstone and, perhaps, her only chance to call off this manhunt before the situation became unsalvageable.

**88888**

"Y'know yesterday it was kinda sexy, but that silent-brooding thing you do can really get annoying after a while."

"Sorry, I… you thought I was sexy?"

Marie smiled, feeling a little joy at finally breaking through the shell that Jason, the man who she had met such a short time before but had changed her life such a great deal, had put up. Even though she had decided that he was off the market, if didn't chance the affection she held for him, nor the jealousy she felt towards 'Tiffany Meadows.' Jason, to the extent that she understood him, had kept a tight reign on his emotions ever since she had met him on that snow-covered street in Zurich. Somehow, she had known that there was something special about him, even during that awkward introduction. Back then (was it less than 36 hours ago?) she didn't realize just how special special could be. Back then, he was just an American looking for help from a fellow Yankee. She had no problem providing the transportation he needed, the money and getting to drive across Europe with a 'boy next door' cutie had been bonuses.

He was a walking, talking, breathing self-contradiction. He was a warrior who embraced pacifism, he was a pauper who lived in an upscale apartment and carried around millions in a knapsack. He was a listener who had an opinion on everything. He claimed to know nothing of real relevance, yet possessed a keen insight into human behavior and could navigate through the most stressful situations without effort. Yet what made him an enigma to her, more than any of his contradictions, was the fact that he had a pretty, clever, brave and devoted girlfriend, to whom he had shown no affection since their re-introduction. True, his memory loss explained a lot of his inconsistencies, but how could he simply dismiss someone who clearly held a great deal of affection for him?

Marie released a breath that she hadn't realized she'd been holding, trying to exhale her frustration with the air, and contemplated her keys, clutched in her left hand. The only condition that Tiffany had made, before leaving the vehicle to her and Jason, was that the subcompact's keys stay in her hands, not in Jason's. It was an odd request, one that had puzzled Marie until the redhead disappeared into the hotel. Tiffany was afraid that Jason would drive off and abandon her. Upon realizing the slightly older woman's concern, Marie realized that she was dealing with a sulking boyfriend, who was undoubtedly annoyed about his plan being derailed. Even though Marie had no doubt that Jason could, if he wanted, either hotwire her car or take the keys by force, she was certain that he would not resort to either form of theft. However, his sulking only brought about an uncomfortable silence and without the keys in the ignition, she couldn't even listen to the car's radio. In this tense environment, she had to think of something drastic to draw him out of his funk and she had hoped that her admission would do it. It was a bold statement, but it was needed to break through his shell and start a necessary conversation.

"Oh vanity, thy name is Jason."

"Isn't that supposed to be 'woman'?"

"For a guy who's lost his memory, you seem to recall some Shakespeare; and speaking of woman, you're certainly behaving like one."

"Young or old?" Jason asked, with the hint of a smile. "'Cause if you mean young, I can't complain. The young women that I know, so far, are pretty cool. Especially the one sharing my company right now."

"Flirt much?"

"I'm not flirting, I'm just stating a fact," Jason paused. "Speaking of stating a fact, you still haven't given me an answer on the sexy question."

The Bohemian giggled and punched the back of Jason's seat. After an initial jump, the mystery man joined in the mirth, the first she had heard from him. The sound, and the fact that this brooding man could enjoy simple laughter warmed her heart.

"Mister Bourne, you're off the market," she chided him, playfully. "Like I said earlier, I've been the other woman before and I don't want to go down that road again."

"Meaning…" Jason prompted.

"Meaning you can stop trying to feed me to that ego of yours," Marie insisted, using the rear view mirror to give him a mock-angry look.

"Alright, alright; but for the record, you started it."

"That mean's I can finish it, too."

Even Jason's ensuing dry chuckle helped to ease the fear, which she was trying so hard to conceal. Even though she enjoyed the warm feeling swirling through her, she didn't like what was causing it.

She was falling for him.

This was something she had been fighting hard against. Marie was well aware that she was an impulsive person, a 'leap and the net will appear' type of girl, who frequently got herself in uncomfortable situations without any idea how to get back out. Her older brother used to tell her that she needed to find a guy who would compliment her attitude, balance out her life. Since her big brother was the sensible one in the family, she always tried her best to take his advice. Unfortunately that brash part of her would always emerge, eventually, and drive away whichever straight-laced, three squares a day type she had managed to hook up with. Her most irritating trait, at least to herself, was the way her spontaneity tended to drive away the men that were the best for her. Jason, on the other hand, was stoic, quiet, action over deed; but she could glimpse in him, occasionally, a free spirit locked deep inside. This spirit was just waiting for the right person to come along with a key to let it out and she knew that she was just such that person. Jason was the kind of person her brother would have wanted her to find, the full package. He was a damaged package, to be sure, but just because something was damaged didn't mean that it couldn't be repaired, perhaps better than it had been before.

Yesterday, she had found his plight interesting and the Florence Nightingale side of her had taken over, compelling her to help him through his bizarre situation. In the last couple of hours, she had seen another side to this 'lost librarian.' She had seen raw bravery and controlled savagery, mixing her earlier thoughts with a healthy dose of hero worship. He was like a 25 year old John McClane; the only thing missing was the Yippee ki yay.

Discovering Tiffany' existence had made him off-limits, which in some, evil way appealed to her as a challenge. Competing for his affections, while he was in this mixed-up state would be cruel to both of her companions and the metaphorical angel on her left shoulder kept telling her to look but not touch. Of course, that same angel didn't have any problems with her having a little fun; being a true friend and helping him work through his confusion

"How convenient, you end it after you get the last word," he quipped. "Just like a woman."

"So says the obvious voice of authority on the matter," she replied. "I bet that dating a redhead has led to a fair number of squabbles, and I can't exactly imagine Tiffany backing down from a fight."

"Then you know something I don't," Jason answered, with a dead tone. The lighthearted smile, which had looked so good on him a moment ago, was now gone.

Marie squirmed uneasily in the backseat, preparing to do something that she really didn't want to do. She didn't like talking about people behind their backs, especially people she didn't know very well. From what she had seen so far, Tiffany was nearly the perfect woman. She seemed to have a quick temper, and might be a little bossy, but Marie herself had the odd flaw, as well. She considered her options carefully; the little devil on her right shoulder was telling her to steer clear of this potential minefield, while the angel on her left told her that Jason needed some help. There was also the fact that she had known this Jason persona longer than Tiffany had. Sure, it was only 20 hours of time but that gave her dibs on the loyalty front, didn't it? Finally, it was obvious that Jason needed a confidant, someone who could offer him an opinion that was untainted by a long, obviously complicated, mutual history.

Marie unbuckled her seatbelt and squirmed her body into the gap between the front seats. "So you still can't remember anything?" She asked. "No flashes, glimmers, or fragmented memories of the two of you…together?"

"Oh…I get flashes, glimmers and fragments alright," Jason answered, resolutely staring through the front windshield and away from his companion. "But there are no pictures or sounds. Just…feelings and emotions."

"Feelings are good," Marie protested. "Unless, of course, they're bad feelings. Then that would really suck."

"Trust me, these are the sucky kind."

"Alright then," Marie challenged him. "Now that it's just the two of us, talk me through it. I might be able to give you some perspective. Believe you me, I'm this city's preeminent expert on sucky emotions, both lived and caused."

Jason snorted another chuckle, prompting Marie to smile, as well. She felt good about giving him a moment of levity at the brink of what promised to be a painful recollection.

"Okay, it's like this," Jason plunged ahead. "I've been trying to remember every emotion that I've felt towards her, from the point where I saw her in my room. For some reason I can't get past this…block, for want of a better term. It's like I…or whoever I was before, have intentionally tried to forget every memory associated with her. Hell, I wouldn't even believe that we _had_ some sort of relationship, if it wasn't for this unexplained animosity I have for her. One second I'll be feeling calm and collected, like having her near me is as normal as breathing, and then she…she…she."

"What?"

"Then she touches me or she looks at me with…I don't know…pity and regret and I go all cold. Suddenly, it's like every bit of joy has been sucked out of me and I know that she did it. I really want to trust her, Marie, but I have this feeling that it would be a big mistake."

"Y'know, poets write about feelings more than they do about thoughts."

"Good for them," Jason offered a dry reply. "Most of them spend most of their time wondering why nobody takes them seriously."

"What I'm saying is that feelings are the memories of the heart. What you're going through says a lot about you, Jason?"

"And that is?"

"Okay, Tiffany is certainly attractive. If she were to take a little time and effort, she would probably doll up really well. She cares about you, even though you don't know her from Eve, she's willing to do next to anything for you. Most guys would just look at this and say 'who cares about the details? Let me get my ashes hauled a few times, then we'll figure it all out.' You, on the other hand, aren't taking advantage. Granted, you haven't had the time or opportunity, but you haven't been trying to set something up for later, either. You're thinking with your heart, not your head." The vagabond flashed him an impish smile, "either of your heads."

"Don't give me too much credit, Marie," Jason remarked. This time it was his turn to squirm uncomfortably in his seat. "Just because I haven't done anything doesn't mean I haven't thought about it. Some of the thoughts haven't been exactly wholesome, either."

Marie tried to restrain her mirth, but the laughter wouldn't be denied. It started as a giggle then grew to an infectious laugh, one that took her a full 20 seconds to bring back under control. "Jason," she managed to snicker. "You wouldn't be a guy if you didn't have those thoughts, frequently. Don't be ashamed, she's a babe. The truth of the matter is that you aren't playing her. You've got doubts and you're keeping your hands to yourself until you figure out what's what. That's respectful." Suddenly, her impish grin found its way back to her face, "Just to answer that little question that's in your mind right now, yes, she's a real wildcat in the sack."

"Excuse me?" Jason's face showed more shock than when Choirboy decided to do his concrete swan dive.

"Oh yeah," Marie nodded. "She'll rock your world. No doubt in my mind. Check out that slender, athletic frame, as if you haven't been checking it out. I bet she's as limber and as flexible as an anaconda. You want to know how I know this?"

"H…h…how????"

The Bohemian leaned in close to his ear, releasing a whisper that sounded more like a soft sigh, "Because we know our own."

Jason gulped audibly before managing to slowly turn and face his companion.

"But there is a difference between her and me," Marie informed him.

"And that is?"

"While she can rock your world, I can shake it apart and leave you a helpless mass of jelly."

Jason was at a loss for words, at least beyond the strangled 'eeep' he had managed. Was she serious? Was she coming on to him? Did he want her to come on to him? He didn't need any additional complications in his confused life but…what was he thinking about, again?

"My God," Marie had to cover her mouth with her hand. "You must have been quite the prude, back when you were a teenager. I bet you either asked the girl's permission to kiss her, or waited until she made the first move, didn't you? I can picture you standing in front of your mirror, debating with yourself, for hours on end, about whether you should try to make some sort of move. I bet you drug your feet down your school's hallways, hands in your pockets, hunched over and wearing a sad expression every time the school held a dance. You probably didn't think any girl in her right mind would go with you, unless she lost a bet."

Jason's face, which had been so flustered a moment before, displayed a flare of disturbing rage. She had been hoping for a little bit of a confrontational reaction from him, but she hadn't expected it to be this intense. She had always had a skill for reading people, one that she had honed during several years of living on other's charity. She knew that she was playing a dangerous game; playing on his emotions, trying to evoke some of his memories. With any luck, they would be able to study these memories and learn some more about him. She honestly didn't think that her taunting could be an accurate reflection of his teen years. Was he really the ostracized loner she had insinuated? Had this…hunk…sitting in front of her been so awkward that girls had intimidated him?

Could her playful taunt, an effort to get him to protest the inaccuracy, have been close to a painful reality?

"Look, Marie, I don't think we need this kind of a distraction," Jason began, only to go silent, somehow offended at his last word.

Before Jason could say anything more, Marie held up her hands, palms out and pushing at the air in the universal calm down gesture. Jason turned his head away and simply sat, staring out the driver's side window.

"They were idiots," Marie declared, when the silence had stretched to an uncomfortable length.

"What?!?"

"Whoever wouldn't give you the time of day. Idiots, all of them."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You say you don't, but I think you really do. Do you think I might have been right about what I just said?"

"I … I ... don't know," Jason admitted. "I seemed to hear the words 'loser' and 'dork' repeat a couple of times in my mind, then I got a kind of…flash picture…of a crowd of teenagers who thought that I was lower than pond scum. I felt depressed, like they were right. But then I got another flash, this time of three people. Only I didn't get a sense of disdain and contempt from them. They actually balanced it out for me. The moment my minds-eye saw them I didn't have the anger and the pity I felt for myself a half-second earlier. I actually felt pretty good. Almost emotionally rejuvenated. The feelings they encouraged in me was kind of warm and fuzzy."

"Okay, that's a start," Marie insisted. "We triggered some bad vibes but we picked up something that was at least semi-positive. Warm and fuzzy memories are better than cold and harsh ones. So, three people; who were they and what were they doing?"

"Let's see," Jason struggled with his elusive memory. "One was…of Spanish descent. She was wearing a red vest and one of those headphone microphones. The second was a blonde girl, wearing a cheerleader's uniform. The last one was Asian and she had on some sort of Catholic schoolgirl uniform."

"Spanish, Caucasian and, Asian?" The twinkle was back in Marie's eye. "Man, you really got around didn't you? Either that or you had some interesting fantasies."

"They were all sixteen or seventeen," Jason protested. "And I think I was, as well. So I don't think that we were indulging in those kind of fantasies."

"Oh, so if you're sixteen you don't have sex?" Marie taunted. "Whose rule is that? I started to indulge in horizontal refreshment a full year earlier."

"Huh?" Jason blinked, several times. "Okay, that's more information than I needed or wanted. There … there was a … a shadow as well, that I can't really place. It wasn't really a shadow; it was something that spread itself over my image memory of the three girls. I think that it symbolized something that blocked me, kept me away from them. I think that these girls were people who I knew and who could have been important to me. Yet, this shadow seemed to prevent me from seeing what they could have been."

"You're saying that they were interested in you as a guy, but this shadow kept you from doing anything about it?"

"Stupid, I know," Jason admitted. "But I can't explain it any other fashion. Their images were as clear as day, for a heartbeat, than this shadow swept over them and they just vanished."

"Jason, I don't think it's stupid, I think it's a start. You actually remembered something; sure it doesn't make sense now but it will with time. Umm … were they attractive?"

"Who?"

"The teenage girls. Were they pretty?"

"Yeah, the were, and in different ways. The Asian girl looked sexy, kind of like the sweet girl with the naughty side. The blonde cheerleader was stereotypical hot, but I got a 'Preacher-Daughter' type of vibe. Sweet and wholesome and very much the kinda girl you would bring home to mom and dad. As for the Spanish girl? She looked like she would have been a fun person to hang out with. The type you could go see a Guy Movie with and eat Naco's with not a care if you looked like a pig while doing it."

"Well, if you knew them, you must not have been a loser or a dork."

"Maybe, but that's what I recall being called and how I…sort of thought of myself back then. Strange that it comes back now, don't you think?"

"What do you mean?"

"I've spent the last two weeks trying to remember anything from before but you just pulled something out with only a few minutes of work."

"Don't give me too much credit, Mister Bourne. I just got you a little bit pissed. You did the rest."

"Do you think that's how this will work?" Jason looked honestly troubled. "That I'll only remember fragments of my life when I get angry? I mean, what does that say about the person I really am? I must have spent my entire life full of pent-up rage. Is being pissed my normal state of mind? Maybe that's why I can't get in touch with who I am…or was. Have I forgotten why I was always angry? Maybe I'm being too passive now. And if I recall and become the guy I was does that mean I'll be angry all over again. Because if that's the case then I think I would rather be oblivious. I don't want to be angry all the time, Marie. I just want to feel what I feel now. It might be an empty feeling for the most part but I would prefer that to 24/7 rage."

"Whoa, that's too many questions, in too short of time. First of all, I don't think you're right on the 'full of rage' thing. I believe Tiff when she said that you were the sweetest guy she ever met. I have pretty good instincts about people, Jason, and I can tell you this; you wouldn't hurt a fly."

"Maybe, but I can slice a man's legs with a butcher's knife, without thinking twice."

"Yes. But not a fly, unless it bit you first." Marie nudged Jason, then followed with a playful push to his shoulder. She was hoping for another laugh but only earned another sad smile.

"I keep replaying everything that happened in the apartment with that guy," he admitted.

"And?"

"Why would Tiffany run towards that psycho?" Jason shook his head. " She didn't hesitate when he came crashing in through the window. She pushed me aside and told me to run, that she'd handle it."

"She was trying to protect you. What's so hard to understand about that?"

"But how did she react so fast? Everything was a little be crazy at the time, you were in the bathroom, I was talking to a girlfriend I couldn't remember and suddenly some sort of bounty hunter comes flying in through my hallway window. She should have been as confused as we were, but she wasn't. She just went charging in, she even said 'I'll handle this, run.'"

"It sounded like good advice to me. I would have run as well, if I wasn't part naked."

"No, listen to what I'm saying," Jason pleaded. "I've replayed that scene over and over in my head since she left. Nothing about what she did was…right. Now, I'm almost certain that I heard her wrong, as well. I thought I heard her tell me to run, but she had her back to me and she was breathing a little hard. Now, I think that she said 'I'll handle this, _Ron_.'"

"Ron?" Marie shook her head. "That makes no sense. Your name is Jason; she even calls you Jason. Why would she call you Ron? Now I think you're trying to find excuses to not trust her."

"Look, when you left us to use the shower, I started telling her my story. She began to reassure me and then caught herself just before making a mistake. I didn't think much at the time, but she started to say 'Ro '… and then corrected herself to say 'Jason'. She's also been reluctant about telling me about my life. Don't you think that's just a little strange?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I'm supposed to be her boyfriend, right?" Jason was still working on his argument, clearly putting the last pieces together even as he spoke. "She just discovers that I cannot remember her, or us. I would expect her to try to validate our relationship, say by telling me how long we've been together, where we met, what we like to do, that sort of thing. It's like she's just giving me hints, telling me that I was sweet and that some doctor built a machine that could help, but nothing that can be done quickly. It's like she's saying enough to keep me interested but not enough to let me figure out exactly who I was and what the two of us are to each other."

"Maybe she's freaked?" Marie said, in Tiffany's defense. "You're seeing this only from your point of view, Jason. Let's face it, you've been wound up pretty tight these last couple of days, with good reason. Maybe she's trying to figure out the best way to reveal everything. I'm no shrink, but I know that the human mind is pretty delicate. You don't want to use a sledgehammer on your own brain, do you?"

"Then why don't I trust her?"

"Newsflash, Jason. You don't exactly trust anyone."

"I trust you."

"Because you had a choice when we met," Marie pointed out. "You approached me, remember? I wasn't in your apartment, sleeping in your bed. You had the control to make the first move and to reveal what you wanted to share. Because you found her, where you found her, you almost have to accept the fact that there's something between the two of you. She knows something you don't and that wigs you out."

"No it doesn't!" Jason insisted. "I'm feeling something more than annoyance over being left out of a secret. I'm feeling hostility and distrust. When she left to make the call, and told me to trust her as she left, I had an insane urge to run her down as she passed in front of the car! Why would I feel that way towards a stranger, much less someone I'm intimately involved with? Why do I feel this anger, but I still want to be close to her? Why do I want to hold her and push her away, at the same time?"

Marie studied Jason Bourne's impassive face. While his expressions hid his inner turmoil, his voice betrayed his emotions. With no conscious effort on her part, she placed her hand on his shoulder, in a comforting gesture. She could feel the muscles under the woolen jumper first tense, then relax under her massaging fingers. Jason had raised some valid questions and she had seen a similar reaction once before during an…interesting event in her admittedly colorful life. She closed her eyes, not wanting to suggest what she was about to, but she had to admit that Jason deserved to hear a possible explanation for Tiffany's behavior.

Marie slowly pulled her hand away from Jason's shoulder. Yes, she was skilled in the art of reading people and she was also a woman who had experienced more than most her age. She had, indeed, seen someone act much like Tiffany was acting towards Jason. That person had been a former lover and the person he had treated with the curious mixture of deceit, protectiveness and jealousy had been the wife he was cheating on, when it became obvious she discovered the affair.

When the 'scorned woman' had discovered the affair, she had immediately offered her husband a fairly painless divorce. The man couldn't bring himself to accept this, since it would limit his contact with the children he adored. In the end, it was no contest; he was a family man with a family while Marie was a freedom-loving vagabond. Seeing how her involvement had nearly destroyed the family, Marie had vowed to never again become 'the other woman.' Yet, she observed the married couple and could now see these behaviours being repeated, albeit with the genders reversed. There was Jason, showing an unexplained doubt and reluctance to trust Tiffany, even as Tiffany showed the odd mixture of guilt, avoidance and clinginess that Philippe had, just after his wife had figured it all out.

"Jason," she began hesitantly. She didn't know, for sure, that her guess was fact. "Do you think that you feel…the way you do…towards Tiffany may be because she did something that you can't remember, to you? Maybe something that she's trying to make up for, but is afraid you might drive you away, once you remember it? Maybe even the reason that you feel such anger from…before you lost your memories?"

"Marie, I'm far too tweaked and tired to put two and two together right now," Jason protested. "If you have something to suggest, just say it and we'll discuss it."

"Okay, but bear in mind this is just one possibility, based upon one experience that I've gone through."

"And that is?"

"I think, maybe … do you think that Tiffany could have been unfaithful?"

**88888**

Kim Possible looked apprehensively about the private office she had secured for the next hour. It was everything that Ron had instructed her to request and even though she only needed a single, private telephone she admitted to herself she would need the personal privacy in order to sell her point.

She, the girl who had dodged giant robots and had faced doomsday machines, felt her anxiety level increase as she reached for a telephone. It was easy to appear confident, as the staff members who had provided her with the office could attest, being confident, however, was and entirely different story. She was about to enter into negotiations with people who lived in a world of deception, half-truths and murder for hire. They possessed no morals or scruples that she understood, as evidenced by what they had manipulated 'her' Ron into becoming. Yet, she had to make the effort to broker some acceptable outcome. She wouldn't be able to live with herself if she didn't take at least the sliver of a chance to resolve this ongoing tragedy.

With the Paris telephone number memorized, Kim Possible refused to delay further, by consulting the paper it was written upon. Shaking slightly, her fingers danced over the keypad. When she pressed the final digit, she released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and put on her best game face. While her contacts (adversaries?) couldn't see her, she needed every little advantage she could scrape up. Kim both blessed and cursed the efficient connection, which allowed a brief, frigid exchange. 'Nicky Parsons' was obviously waiting for the call and was in no mood for idle chatter.

"_Ms. Meadows, it's about time you called. I was beginning to think that your body had taken a dip and we'd have to trawl the left bank to find you."_

Kim felt a sudden irritation. Earlier, she had been thinking of missed opportunities with Ron, and now she was talking with the woman who had probably had that particular experience with him. Her irritation quickly turned into animosity and she suddenly found herself back in Middleton High, talking with Bonnie.

"I'm soooo terribly sorry to disappoint you," her fake perky voice was all sugar-coated cyanide. "But, as you've probably figured out, unless your phone has a Ouija Board attachment, that I'm alive and functioning, no thanks to your hit man. You didn't even give me a chance to bring him in peacefully, did you?

"_It wasn't my call,"_ somehow, the voice conveyed Bonnie's superior manner and condescending attitude. _"Not only don't I make these decisions, the people that do don't let me know everything. You should realize that! I'm just the support system; I give out the assignments, make sure the assets have the…assets they need and evaluate the results."_

"Isn't this convenient! I'm sure you sleep better at night, thinking that these murders are someone else's doing. After all, if you weren't here, they'd just find someone else to do it, wouldn't they? You're not the brain or the trigger finger, you're just an administrator. Well, let me tell you something; there is nothing innocent or detached about your roll in this organization. You are just as guilty as your so-called superiors, the ones who decide who lives and who dies."

Kim could feel the force her words had upon the other end of the phone in the momentary tense silence that followed. She had found a chink in Nicky's armour. The blonde she met that morning may talk the cool and collected game of removed professionalism, but the fact that there existed only empty words told the former adventurer that there existed a conscience. Ron would never have allowed himself to get temporarily involved with the woman if she was as 'cold' as she was trying to present. Her demeanour would have had to have been an act, or at least not as callous as it appeared on the outside. Kim hoped that her provocation would illicit an opening for reason, one that would expose Nicky as a genuine person with genuine emotions and not this Public Relation's nightmare. If Kim guessed right, then like Bonnie, Nicky would deflect ownership of morality to other's in an effort to offer herself freedom of fault.

"_Oh really? Then what about the people I send to complete these missions? Are they absolved?"_

"Unlike you - THEY DON'T HAVE A CHOICE!!! None of your assets have any control over their actions, do they? You conditioned and perverted them to obey you without any hesitation, then told them to kill so that's what they do, they kill. Jason Bourne is not a killer!" Kim snapped, really getting into the moment. "He's a weapon, your weapon! You're the Killers! When you shoot a person, who's the murderer? The gun or the person pulling the trigger? Sure, your…shadow masters…make the decision. But it's YOU who point the weapon and squeeze the trigger! It's YOU who sends Jason, or Choirboy, or whomever else out to execute the mission. You know this but what you don't know is that Jason isn't your weapon anymore! He's nobody's weapon; he's no longer a threat to you."

"_Really_?" The sarcasm practically oozed out of the earpiece. _"There's a body in the local morgue that says otherwise. Do you have any idea what kind of paper trail I have to construct and plant to keep things under control?"_

"If you didn't have the paper trail in place before this happened, it wasn't you administrative capabilities that got you the job," Kim snarled back. "Do you really think I care about your hardships? That sociopath…no, that _weapon_ of yours tried to kill me. He came barging through a window and he wasn't interested in asking questions or 'recovering a lost asset.' He came in there with the sole intent of killing Jason Bourne and anybody who either got in his way or saw him do it. No talking; just killing. His part in your little soap opera was to kill Jason Bourne, wasn't it? The sad thing is that Jason Bourne is already dead, but he won't stay dead if you keep sending people after him."

"_Ms. Meadows, I have no idea what you're talking about. Is the target neutralized or not?" _

"That depends on your definition of neutralized and I would prefer it if you don't refer to him as a 'target', he's a living and breathing person. He has a name, use it. Please and thank you."

"_Pardon?"_

"He has amnesia," Kim informed her…rival? "You might not believe it, but he doesn't have a clue as to who he happens to be. That's why he didn't contact you earlier. He doesn't know who he is, what he does, or what is happening. He's spent the last several days trying to play detective, trying to figure out who he really is. So far, everything I've seen him do has been more reflex and ingrained responses. And I have to say that you've trained him well. Very well. He wasn't planing when he neutralized your follow-up assassin, but I have to warn you that every time you put him under the stress of a life and death situation, you risk Jason Bourne re-emerging."

"Earlier today you warned me about the nature of the man I was sent to find. You told me he was ruthless and calculating and unstoppable when he has an objective. I thought they were just words to scare me or to make me more alert to the actual danger I found myself in. But I never believed what you said was true, it was impossible for me to divorce the memory I had of him. But earlier today I saw the face of 'Jason Bourne' as he fought and injured your 'Choirboy'. I saw the void of expression as he sliced a knife effortlessly across the living flesh of another human being. Jason Bourne frightens me and I only saw him emerge for a couple of seconds. I honestly don't think you're ready for what might happen if he takes control for a longer parcel of time, and realizes that he doesn't like himself."

"But you want to know what's more frightening then that? Jason Bourne _'awakening'_ and realising that the people he once devotedly worked for, never questioned. The people who he let damn his soul, wanting him terminated. Do you think he'd just lie down and die? Or do you think he'd start taking the war to their door? And if he does that, who do you think whose door he'll come knocking on first? Given your position as the person who distributes the Assignment's from Treadstone, I would be investing in some of the best locks and security alarms in the business. Not that it would really do you much good. You see, Nicky, this is where we actually work towards the same goal; I don't want that to happen, you don't want that to happen and I don't think Treadstone want it, either."

Silence answered Kim's plea for several, endless moments.

"_Nothing?"_ Parsons demanded, now more confused than haughty. _"He doesn't remember anything? Not even his name?"_

Kim's heart deflated, hearing the question within a question the once aggressively confident woman was asking. Nicky Parsons had gone from the controller to an uncertain youngster, in the space of a heartbeat.

"No, Nicky," Kim's snarkiness had also evaporated. "He doesn't remember either of us; at least he hasn't said anything to me. To him, Jason Bourne is just a name on a passport. Please, if you ever cared one bit for him, let Jason Bourne rest in peace; give him back the life he had before Treadstone, or as much of it that he can reclaim. Please, because if you don't, I don't think this will end well for anyone."

"_Do you want me to rescind the directive on Jason Bourne?"_

"Don't you want to?" Kim demanded, a little more harshly then she intended. At least she wasn't referring to Ron as 'The Target' anymore. But now upon hearing that name escape her rival's mouth she kind of wished that she would. There was too much gentle emotion as she spoke the name of Jason. It may have been her active imagination, but it sounded like a lover's whisper. She was presently dealing with her exaggerated insecurities with Marie, the last thing she needed was to compete with the thought that Nicky's earlier claim of a now closed relationship with Ron was in words only. She had said that 'Jason' ended the affair and she abided by it. But that did not mean that Nicky WANTED it to end. Against every instinct of wanting to alienate Nicky Parson's from Ron, she knew that she had to use it and make her rival connect with Ron on a emotional level that would turn a foe into a potential ally.

"If you really cared about him, Nicky, like you said earlier this morning, you wouldn't kill him for a crime he didn't commit; for a crime he didn't realize has been committed. I'm trying to keep him from digging too deeply into his past, at least until I can get him the help he needs. I want to exorcise _Jason Bourne_ and leave him free to be the precious person he was before Treadstone got it's hands on him. I can see glimpses of that person in his actions. His sweet and beautiful actions. Please, Nicky, do this for him and if you can't do it for him then think of this; I can remove Jason so completely that there won't even be a body to hide or explain. No Police looking for explanations to an identity that goes no-where. No creation of a nuisance paper-trail. Let him just disappear and I swear you will not hear a word from me or him ever again."

"_But I don't have the authority to do that. I can't just tear up a 'Black List'."_

"Then who can? If you can't then put me onto someone who does."

"_I'll need a couple of minutes,"_ Nicky informed her. _"I'll transfer you to my Supervisor. I know that he can rescind the order; he was the one that issued the order in the first place. If you can convince him, you're free to do whatever you will with Jason, or whomever he has become."_

_**88888**_

_Kim talks to Conklin and doesn't get the support she had hoped for._

_Ron deals … poorly with the thought that Kim 'Cheated' on him._

_Marie doesn't know whose side to take._

_Drama, Blooming Romance, Broken Hearts, Action and a small dose of Torture awaits in the next chapter._

_As always a special 'BOOYAH' goes to my beta – Daccu65._

_Reviews are gold, and I'm very greedy. ;-)…lol._

_**88888**_


	8. Chapter 8

_Take Note: Swearing Ahead!!! But believe me it is all integral to the development and charm of a certain character____. Enjoy._

*******

There was no escape from the tension she felt. The next person she spoke to, her next conversation; would change her life forever. How could one person hold such authority, such unrestrained power, over another? With a single word this faceless supervisor would either save or condemn Ron to death. It was this simple and sadistic knowledge that caused Kim to experience more tension now than she had when dialing Nicky. With Nicky, she knew she was dealing with a woman who had experienced the same, intimate connection to Ron as she had. But her next conversation would be with a bean counter, someone who wouldn't be swayed by emotions, simply by the cost-to-benefit ratio.

"_Putting your call through now, Ms. Meadows"_

Kim sat through the sound of the line being first disengaged, then connected to another party. Before she could gather her thoughts and organize her arguments, a gruff, assertive voice, which set her skin crawling with the mere tone, sounded in her ear.

"_So, what name do you prefer? Do you want to be Possible, or do you want to stay in character and go by Meadows? It doesn't make much difference to me. Fuck, call yourself Santa Claus if it'll help make you feel all safe and warm, I don't give a rat's. What I do give a damn about however is something my subordinate just relayed to me. It was a very interesting, actually extraordinary story. I'd be tempted to say that you're lying, but I have to say that this is the kind of stuff that you just can't make up. I mean, what are the odds? So level with me Possible, is Medusa a blank slate, or are you just stalling for time?"_

While her unknown audience was speaking, Kim noted that she could hear a ventilation system and the regular humming of turbines in the background. Whoever she was talking to was on an aircraft. With a chill, Kim guessed that he was over the Atlantic right now, flying to France to personally oversee Jason Bourne's liquidation.

Was Ron really that high priority? Did he warrant some form of department head jumping on the next available transport all the way to Europe just to oversee this _'Operation'_ was carried out discreetly and effectively? The answer to both questions was obviously a _'Yes'_. As much as she presently despised this man, whom she suspected had issued Ron' Death Order she knew that there was a time to play nice and a time to go postal. She suppressed all her anger and forced herself to reply in a calm, businesslike manner.

"You can call me Possible, if you wish," she informed him in a crisp and stern manner. "And I am speaking to…?"

"_Someone who wasn't born yesterday, that's who 'Kimmie-Cub'. Ha-ha, 'Kimmie-Cub', gotta love a well-maintained dossier, don't you? Is your daddy-dearest still using that adorable pet name for you, or can we delete that little bit of embarrassing piece of family familiarity from your personal file?"_

Kim knew exactly what he was doing; he was trying to rattle her, trying to illustrate the extent of his knowledge over her, and as they say_ 'knowledge is power'. _With a resolved tone, Kim dismissed the jibe. "I would prefer that you didn't. Only my father has a free pass to call me that and you sir are not him. I would prefer it if you addressed me properly, please and thank you."

"_Yeah, story of the fucken world, we always want what we can't have. As for me, you don't rate my name, Possible; my subordinates don't get my name, they just call me SIR. The only people who get my name are the ones I work for. Now, I asked you a question earlier and I'm expecting a prompt, factual answer"_

"Yes. Yes, he doesn't know who he is, either before or after you…altered him. The way I see it, this is a win for everyone, since he's no longer a threat to you."

The rough laugh that sounded in reply betrayed that this man must be a smoker, and a heavy one. _"He's a threat as long as he's breathing, Possible. Alive, even if his memory has been wiped or has more holes in it than Swiss cheese, he's a risk. If he recalls even a single assignment, it could bring a category five shit-storm down on us."_

"Us? I think you mean – You. I'm not part of this and neither is Ron, now. So I'll tell you what, if I give you my word. The promise of Kim Possible herself that neither Ron nor I will ever say anything that will compromise what you do and who you do it to. Will you let both of us return back to living our lives quietly?"

"_Sweetheart, you signed a confidentiality agreement before you started on this quest of yours. So YOUR silence is a given."_

"But Jason Bourne's isn't."

"_And that, darlin' is something you can't provide, which is why we're trying to eliminate him as a class one threat. Now, before you start chattering about the unfairness of it all I just want you to know that we didn't make this decision lightly. Are you aware of how much effort and expense we've got invested in him? Millions upon millions little girl. Believe you me that was money well spent. Jason Bourne is dangerous, sweetheart, dangerous in a way you can't believe. We just can't have someone like that wandering around like a ticking time bomb. Besides that, this is the real world. Haven't you figured out what business we're in? You don't just walk away from this life, you leave on our terms."_

"He's a person, not an asset." Kim's attempt at civility failed her. "He's my best friend. Do you really think that I'm just going to sit back and let you murder him? I won't let that happen, not after what you've already done to him in my name! There is no way that I'm going to let you hurt him any more! You may not be aware of this, but I have…influential…friends and favors to call in, from powerful men in Washington. If I need to, I can shine a floodlight onto your dark little empire and watch you scramble for cover like a cockroach."

"_You are a classic, Possible; sleek, stylish and completely out of date! Do you think that a couple of longwinded threats are going to change anything? You think those favors of yours have any punch? For every favor you _think_ you can call in, I've got ten, dirty little career-ending secrets to reveal. Do you know what that means? It means that I can counter every _powerful man _you can throw at me with ten of my own. So, if you don't have anything worth my time, I think I've tolerated you for long enough."_

"Tolerated?!? Listen, I'm just trying to prevent…"

"_Shit! I knew bringing you in was a bad idea. You've ignored your primary objective and followed your own. You were only supposed to draw him out and let us take it from there, plain and simple. I guess I really shouldn't be surprised that you decided you knew better and took control. You're not a team player, Possible; you never have been, unless you were calling the shots."_

"Know me? How the Hell do you know anything about me? If you did then you must have known I would not just step aside and let you kill my best friend _and_ the person you stole from me without any conscience."

"_God, you are such the child." _Came the grumbled reply._ "You don't know shit about the real world, Possible, you never did. You're nothing but a debutante; privileged and pampered from the moment your mother squirted you out; always in front of the camera, always basking in the limelight for the most trivial accomplishment. You wanna stand on your moral high ground and preach to me? Well I don't listen to anybody that hasn't crawled through the slime and blood like I have, like my people are right now. You've never had to make the hard calls, little girl, the kind that gets somebody killed, no matter what you do. You've never had to clean up after one of your little missions, have you? You always ran off to the next photo op and left us to take care of the dirty work."_

"Clean up? What are you talking about? I…we helped people! We didn't leave messes behind!

"_That's where you're wrong, missy. And as for 'never left any messes behind' crap? Well, I've got the time so why don't I use it by making you grow up just a little? You know that mission you took eight and a half years ago, the one to deliver medicine to an oasis village in the Sahara? You were seventeen and couldn't figure out why your government couldn't just send an aircraft over to drop it. After all, the medicine was cheap and the village was small. A twenty-pound package, costing less than two hundred dollars, would eliminate the Cholera outbreak. Seemed like a simple bit of work for you. So you just barged in, talked to some nice folks, the sort with full hearts and empty heads, and they donated the medicine to that you could deliver it, personally. The village was saved and everybody felt really warm and fuzzy, didn't they? When you returned to US soil you had a throng of reporters lined up, just waiting to celebrate your good deed and elevate you closer to sainthood."_

"We saved that village, I didn't call the media, they just showed up!"

"_Yeah, the State Department really played that up. Fuck, you'd already screwed the neighbour's dog. What's done was done as far as they were concerned; they just tried to get some American Pride mileage out of it before it all went to Hell."_

"What do you mean?"

"_I mean that WE, the US Government, were already putting together a care package five times larger than the one you delivered, our only delay was arranging to deliver it via the Red Cross or UNICEF; impartial and anonymous channels. But we had to wash that plan, because of you and your 'save the day' antics. If we were to go forward, some hotshot reporter would have figured it out and put our Commander-In-Chef in one of those awkward places. A couple of months from the event he would have stepped in front of the mikes on the White House lawn, only to have some smartass ask him why he delivered the goods after you had already taken care of the…sitch…as you called it. If he was to appear to initiate a drop after your 'angel of mercy' dash, how do you think that would reflect, huh? It would look as though he was not a leader, but a FOLLOWER. You would have undermined him, making it look as though he took his cues from a teenage girl who was not even out of high school. If you would have just stayed at home and painted your toenails, the villagers would have gotten their goodies, as well as additional medicines and other nice things, and it would have been through the proper channels; channels that were devoid of the repercussions your shit caused."_

"Pardon me?"

"_No, I don't think I will. You're such a beacon of hope to so many, Possible. I bet you went to sleep each night embraced in this arrogant thought, didn't you? You were a hero, you saved the day. But were you there for that same village, two weeks later? Where were you when the local bandit chief showed up and slaughtered every member of that small community for allowing the unclean infidels of the US to walk among them? Where were you when their headless corpses started to rot in the sun as the bandits stole the remaining medicine? That's why we weren't planning to just drop the medicine to the villagers, Possible; we knew the local strongmen would kill them to get it and use anti-America slander to justify their barbarity."_

"I didn't…"

"_Oh, and then there was the fact that the local government didn't like the idea of foreign flights over its territory. Did you ever stop to consider what your 'quick in and out' operation had on the border stability of that very UNSTABLE region? Of course, you were long gone by the time that government made its displeasure known. I suspect your adventure that day was responsible for at least a dozen skirmishes and cross-border raids." _

"_You could have made a simple communiqué and informed the various governments in the region that that experimental rocket plane your techno-nerd friend drummed up for you posed no threat, but did you? No, you didn't. We estimate that three hundred people, on both sides, died in various, engagements because of that little flight. Those nations don't have state of the art radar, or fast response teams, Possible, so you can almost realize why that particular head of state came to the conclusion that your flight was actually some sort of spy drop. He couldn't let his neighbor get away with it, so you can understand why he raided on of their border outposts. Of course, THEY couldn't let that go, so they retaliated, and so on and so forth. It took us months, and a whole lot of dollars, to get them to calm down. Quite the cost for saving a village of forty, temporarily, wouldn't you say? It's almost laughable now, you know, just thinking about the cost. Only about half of them would have died from the shits. Tragic, yeah, but that still would have left 20 villagers hale and hearty, wouldn't it?"_

"That was just one…"

"_Then there was that warm clothes drive you put together in your senior year of high school. You know the one, when all the poor people in that third world mountain range were facing that cold winter. You put together a drive after you heard a report on CNN, and a bunch of people gave you their old coats. It was a very charitable gesture, wasn't it? Boy, the reporters just ate that piece of warm apple pie up, didn't they? It was pure fluff, and you and Stoppable spent two weeks giving those nice, warm coats to all the poor, disadvantaged people."_

"What was wrong with that? We…"

"_Put a whole lot of traditional weavers out of work, Possible. Do you know how those poor mountain folk would have gotten warm clothes? By trading with the local weavers who, by tradition, were mostly women. That's how a barter-economy works, Possible, you trade goods and services for other goods and services, but that system breaks down when you introduce handouts. Do you know what happened to those women when nobody wanted to give them food and firewood in return for their clothes, because Kim Possible provided those clothes for free? I'll tell you. Quite a few of them wound up leaving their mountain homes to look for work in the cities. The only problem was, they really didn't have the job skills to make a living there, either. Of course, being women, most of them had a certain fallback alternative. It wasn't pleasant, but you do what you need to, to survive."_

"I…I…"

"_So don't give me your morality, little girl. I've walked the walk that you wouldn't even dream of. You wanna be pissed at me, I can handle it. Your scorn and a feather will hit me about as hard as a feather. So, now that you've grown up a little bit, are you ready to talk some sense, or do you want to waste more time?"_

Kim felt a flush of guilt, a guilt that drew the taste of bile from her stomach, but she knew she couldn't back down. To cave now would only show weakness and she had too many questions that needed answering.

"Why him? Why Ron?"

"_What do you mean?"_

"Why did you pick him? If you had a beef with me, why didn't you just take me out? Why did you prey upon him?"

The questions hung upon the air for an unbearable moment before she received her reply, and the answer did nothing to settle the guilt her own unintentional participation in the fate of her first and dearest Love.

"_But we did take you out, little girl. How many of these missions have you gone on since your little Ronnie vanished? None! You were a famous celebrity; too many people would start asking questions if you were to disappear into the woodwork, but Stoppable? Nobody paid much attention to the goofy looking guy who was always just out of camera coverage. Once we removed him, Team Possible was finished and we didn't have to foot the bill to clean up your little messes anymore. _"

Kim hated the next query she was going to ask but she knew that she had to ask regardless.

"Then why didn't you just kill him? Why did you put him through all that torture? Why did you make him endure all that suffering? Why couldn't you have just killed him instead of forcing him to endure something he couldn't?"

"_Couldn't endure? Possible, that boy of yours endured everything we threw at him. No matter how many times we knocked him down, he just jumped right back up and asked for more. We put him through hellfire and all we did was give him a tan. He actually cost us some prospective subjects. We figured that if he could go through it and come out tougher, they would as well. Eighty percent of our vexed-subjects couldn't hack it, Possible. Eighty percent either died or cracked under the strain. We eventually had to scale down our indoctrination process, so we could maintain an acceptable number of agents. Couldn't endure? Are you shitting me?"_

"But how did you know Ron would…"

"_Make it through? The bald-assed truth is this - We didn't. In fact, he wasn't supposed to make it through the first trial. He was supposed to either die or break under the pressure and give us a gauge to measure what we could put our other 'Prime' recruits through. He was our Guinea Pig, Possible. But instead, ironically, he became our most successful product."_

"You … you meant to kill him!?!"

A deep-throated laugh preceded the answer to her fourth question._ "Of course, Possible. I see you've finally managed to see the obvious. Well done."_

"_By the time we realized that this little twerp could thrive on hardships that would break almost anyone else, we had already invested massive resources in him. When you're in a Marathon, and your boy is leading the Pack, you don't smear his grey matter on the track just meters before he crosses the Finish Line, do you? We decided instead to recoup our investment by utilizing him more 'aggressively' then what we had planned and we haven't been disappointed. Now, why don't you throw your impotent, moral outrage down the toilet, where it belongs, and focus on the important issue here!"_

"Which is?"

"_The fact that we have an unstable super-agent running around. Get this through your head, this man is no longer your meek little boy-toy: Ron Stoppable, Possible. Ron Stoppable is dead and I will not accept an out of control Jason Bourne on the loose. I'm willing and prepared to eliminate him, my top agent, to avoid the risk of a much worse crisis. Are you willing to risk dozens, maybe hundreds, for a chance to hump your old boyfriend? Ask yourself that and then ask yourself who truly is the selfish one here?"_

"I can make him Ron again! If you just leave him to me, I'll make sure he doesn't harm anyone."

"_That's an empty promise, Possible. If Jason Bourne reemerges, you'll be the first to go down. Do you think that Choirboy was formidable, Possible? He's got nothing on our Top Agent! Choirboy was a maniac, a fucken Hyena, he was able to keep enough of his marbles and retained some sense of control through the Program. But he was a Lunatic, but he was 'OUR' Lunatic and that unpredictability made him an Up-and-Comer. But Bourne had the icy edge to keep himself on top of a very short, yet competitive list for six years. Choirboy was good, but Bourne is the best. Do you really think someone like that could just 'disappear' or fade away?"_

"_Tell you what, Possible, as I see it at the moment, you've got yourself three choices. First, you can do the smart thing; which means turning that cute little butt of yours towards him and running as fast as you can. Click your heels together three times, go back home, call in some favors to keep you safe, let the professionals do the job and pretend that none of this ever happened. Secondly, you can do the dumb thing and go running back to him and pretend that you can somehow protect him from us, and yourself from him. Eventually, he'll snap again and believe me, Possible; he's too much for you to handle. Finally, you can do the responsible thing; you can tell me where you're at, then go back and stall him. If you give me your location, I can provide you with a half-dozen locations that will sound safe, but where we can eliminate this problem quickly, quietly and with no collateral damage. Your choice Possible."_

Kim could only sit there, gripping the phone tightly to her ear, dumbfounded. The only thing she had ever wanted to do, once she became a teenaged heroine, was to help people. It had been simple: see people in trouble, help them, find someone else who needed help. Yet now, she had received a cruel wake up call. This…mystery man had just revealed that she had executed her actions on blind faith and arrogance. She desperately wanted to believe that he had lied about the villagers and the weavers, but the man's tone told her different. He wasn't gloating or accusing, simply stating facts. The worst part, at least in her perception, was that Ron had come along on these missions and thus shared in the guilt. The loyal and sweet boy had followed her everywhere, always _'having her back'_. He had been the voice of moderation, but she had usually drowned out that voice with her own, proactive attitude.

When she had first posted her services on the Internet, she had been looking for the odd bit of yard work, babysitting or walking pets, trying to earn some spending money. How had that turned into trying to pull Ron out of a Band of Government Assassins?

"_I want an answer, Possible. Are you going to be part of the problem, or part of the solution?"_

"Tell me, if he isn't Ron Stoppable or Jason Bourne, then who is he? You seem to have all the damn answers, well answer me this. Who is he? You can't tell me, can you? Well, I've been asking myself that very question for the last couple of hours. And I still don't have an answer. But this I know, whoever he is, he's innocent. Even though he _**might**_ be a ticking time bomb, I can't condemn him for something he _**might**_ do some day."

"_This is pointless. You want to make this a double funeral, fine."_

"IT'S NOT POINTLESS!!! None of this is pointless, it's tragic, but not pointless."

Kim took a deep breath and tried to regain her composure. She could not allow her anger, either at this man or herself, to dictate her actions. She had tried to be courteous, she had tried to be professional, and she had even tried to be emotional. The only thing left was to try to play this man's ego.

"You have issues with me. I get that. I ran my missions without thinking about the ramifications, without asking anybody who had studied the political and economic fallout. I proceeded my actions without taking a single minute of liberty to ponder the _'What If'_ questions of what I was doing. I did what I did, some reporters went ape over me, and other people paid the price while I lapped up the attention. I get that while I've portrayed myself as a role model, I'm really an egocentric who wants validation from strangers. I always took pride in helping others, of being a morally upright girl, but I was self-serving, reveling in the interviews and headlines. Is that what you want me to admit? Fine, I admit it!"

"_What game are you playing?"_

"No game. Game's are for children, and I lost any and all connection to my childhood the day Ron disappeared from my life. You wanted to put me in my place, well, I'm here, but how does that change anything? How does taking me down a few thousand notches change anything?"

"_It doesn't."_

"Exactly, so let's quit wasting time with it and come up with a solution that we can all, _**Ron**_ included, live with."

"_There is only one solution that I will accept, and you know what it is. Bourne is a dead man walking. If you want to be walking beside him, then go right ahead. This is your one and only chance to play ball with us, Possible. This is your 'Get out of Jail Free' card. I strongly suggest you use it"_

If there was one term this unknown spook _shouldn't_ have used to sell his point, it was by referencing that card. It held too many loving memories and though it was a generic reference for so many things, it cast Kim's mind back to before she left for England all those sad years ago. It was now her most treasured possession, which Ron had given to her as a token of his love for her, and his willingness to step aside for her happiness with out challenge if she so wished it.

"Why '_Bourne'_? Why did you give him the name 'Jason Bourne?'"

"_What the fuck are you talking about now? I'm trying to save your skin."_

"Now who's playing games?" Kim made no effort to keep the contempt from her voice. "I knew what you were going to try to do to me the moment I got involved with you people. I was hoping that I could produce a miracle, come to an understanding and work out a deal that would help everyone, but I guess that's not going to happen. So, before I go and you start hunting me down, throw me a bone. Answer this one question. Why did you name him Jason Bourne? Was it a sense of irony, or what? Using Bourne as an extension of Born, as in RE-Born? Out of all the names you could have used, why that one? Are you that twisted?"

Several seconds of silence greeted Kim's last questions, before giving way to the man's gruff growl. "W_e always let the operative chose his own prime identity. We come up with additional aliases, usually people who already exist and can be utilized. We asked him what name he would like, as soon as he got the cosmetic surgery bandages off and finished his final initiation. The shrinks say it's the ultimate surrender to the program; with a single name, each operative gives up his old life and steps into an unknown, new one. He submits himself to his new life and it makes them believe they have power of choice over. Why do you ask?"_

"Ron … Ron chose it?" Tears began to flow down Kim's cheeks, passing to either side of her growing smile. She was unable to stop herself, she first giggled, then began to laugh. "You…you…failed," she informed her unknown listener. "He may have become what you wanted but you couldn't destroy his Ron-ness. You beat him, performed water-torture on him, and drove him to the brink of delusion and distrust. But you couldn't stop him from holding on to something and have him all but spit in your eye. Ron Stoppable is still in there somewhere, I'm willing to stake my life on this fact. You made him give up on me, his family, everything he held dear, but you couldn't snuff out that one little smart-ass spark."

"_What the HELL you talking about and what the HELL do you have to laugh about?"_

"_JASON BOURNE_. Don't you see? He named himself _Jason Bourne_. Not you. HIM!!!"

"_So what?"_

"Think of the initials: J. B. He knew that his government was about to give him a _'License to Kill' _so he chose_ Jason Bourne _as his alias. Can you think of anybody else with those initials and who is in possession of that very same Licence by their Government? All he needed was a classic silver 1967 Aston Martin with a personalized, '007' license plate too make his fantasy complete." Kim burst into another round of stressed-out laughter, one that she was sure broadcast her spite to the man on the other end of the line.

"You tried to destroy him," she finally chuckled. "And maybe you did, up to a point. But don't you understand? He still kept a little piece of his old self, the childlike goof. Maybe your conditioning and tutelage turned him into some sort of amoral, ruthless killer, but at the end of it all, he refused to lose his quirky sense of humor. THAT'S the piece of him that everyone who cared about him, me included, misses the most and as long as I believe that there's some fragment of _'Ron Stoppable'_ in there, I will not give up on him. I know the fate that your bastard organization has decreed for him and me, but I haven't accepted it for either of us. I will protect him with my life! Do you hear me?!?"

The redhead punctuated her statement by forcibly returning the telephone handset to its cradle. She hadn't slammed the phone, rather she had firmly terminated the conversation on her terms. The conversation over, she experienced a sudden wave of relief. The uncertainties were gone, the gauntlets had been officially thrown down and she knew exactly where she stood with Treadstone. It wasn't going to be easy, but now they could work towards the happy ending that Treadstone had denied them.

_**/////**_

_**\\\\\**_

"That fucken little…" Senior Agent Jack Conklin fought hard to reign in the torrent of very 'blue' language that was threatening to vomit forth. _**Nobody**_ hung up on him, certainly not some clueless amateur. He wouldn't indulge in such behavior, since he considered it a sign of weakness. Instead, he pushed a button on his extension, re-routing his call to the relay point. "Tell me what you have, Parsons, and it better be gold."

"_Well sir, I've traced the call to the Imperial Hotel, here in Paris."_

"So what?" He snarled. "That's useless information at this point. Bourne and Possible are both too smart to place a call from a location at which they plan to remain. They'll be long gone before we can even prep the next team, much less get them there."

"_True, sir. That's why I accessed the City's traffic monitoring cameras, while you were having your conversation. One of the cameras, three blocks north of the hotel, shows a parked vehicle that matches the make, model and color of the one Bourne used to leave Zurich. Unfortunately, the tags are obscured by the cars in front of and behind him. Because of this, I can't confirm that it is the one he used. Red subcompacts are very popular in Europe, sir."_

"Like I give a fuck! Proceeded with your report."

"_Yes sir! There appears to be at least two parties sitting inside the suspect vehicle, one in the driver's seat and the other in the rear, driver's side seat. Unfortunately, the poor picture quality prevents me from identifying the occupants. However, one of the silhouettes is roughly Bourne's height. If Ms. Possible is indeed travelling with Jason, I suspect the current passenger is one Marie Helena Kreutz, the same person Jason recruited to help him outside the US Embassy in Switzerland."_

"Did I just hear you right?" The veteran agent asked, in a tired sigh. "Did you say _Jason_?!? I hope we don't have a problem, Parsons, because I need everyone to bring his best 'A' game to this 'Fuck Up'. If your personal history with Bourne is going to compromise your effectiveness and objectivity then speak up now and take yourself off the assignment. There's a lot more than your career at stake here, understand?"

"_There will be no problems, sir. I'm committed to seeing this through to whatever conclusion is necessary. The only issue I have is the reliability of Ms. Possible's information. While plausible, it seems just a little too convenient to me."_

Jack Conklin was grateful to hear these words from his subordinate. He had always had a soft spot for all of his subordinates, and Nicola Parsons in particular. In addition to directing those who reported to him, it was his duty to develop them, preparing them for the day when one of them would take his place. Of his current group, Nicola showed the most promise to be capable of taking that next step; she was efficient, professional and devoted to her duty. When he found out that she had mixed business with pleasure, with Jason Bourne, it had taken every ounce of pull he could muster to keep her in the Program. Had she only been a few years older, he wouldn't have minded; such a relationship would have given her another control measure over the asset. As it was, Conklin had detected an emotional attachment, which had nearly landed the girl in an Antarctic, satellite relay station. Still, it wound up being a lesson learned the hard way and those were the ones that stuck. Of course, he would never be able to tell her how much he worked to keep her in the Program. He purposely maintained his rough, demanding and uncompromising reputation, even though he would go to the wall for every subordinate reporting to him. An unapologetic graduate of the old school CIA, he had learned the value of tough-love and dispensed it constantly. He took pride in the fact that, although his subordinates showed him the courtesies due his station, he had personally earned every bit of respect they showed, just as his old mentor had earned his respect. This same commitment to his underlings made him take Jason Bourne's possible defection/retirement very hard.

'_Jason'_ was the son he never had a chance to have, representing enormous potential to shape and mold. It had been an honor to instill his own brand of wisdom and dedication into the developing personality hidden inside the disjointed, blonde youth. Ron Stoppable was a lost cause, but _'Jason Bourne'_ was something else entirely.

He had held his breath when Jason made his first, official kill, terrified that all of the conditioning might not have prepared him for the act. Fortunately, the debriefing turned into a coming of age, filling the senior agent with pride; pride in Jason's ability and pride in his own accomplishment, in getting Jason over the milestone that tripped up so many.

An avid reader of history, especially military history, Jack Conklin compared the preparation of their Operatives to that of the famed Spartan Soldiers of myth, of Greek boys wrenched from their families' love and taught the brutality of combat and death by the State. Only when the child had advanced in years to being on the cusp of manhood and had learned all that could be taught him did a final test befall them. They were to sneak out of their dorms in the dead of night, with no weapon, and kill a designated slave. Once they had delivered death and claimed a trophy, he was to evade capture from Guard's, returning to his dorm undetected and presenting his prize to his instructors the very next day. The final test of being a Spartan Warrior was more about stealth and evasion than murder. So it was the same for Treadstone Graduates.

So determined was he to see Jason live up to his potential that he accompanied him on his first covert assignment; he wanted to be there to support the young man, in case he developed some moral qualms. To his joy, Jason performed his duty brilliantly. The Russian businessman and his wife were done away with, with only the Russian Intelligence Service showing the slightest suspicion about the murder/suicide. A certain natural gas pipeline, serving Western Europe, re-opened within twelve hours. There could be not doubt that Bourne was a natural, he could stand in the middle of a room and be invisible, if he chose. The years of playing second fiddle during Kim Possible's adventures had given him the ability to not be noticed, and adapt to any situation that he encountered

Issuing the termination order had felt like plunging a plastic spork into his own heart. "Alright then," he replied, concentrating on the matter at hand. "Let's move on. What actions have you taken to intercept and contain Bourne?"

"_I've taken the liberty of placing an anonymous call to the Paris Metro-Police, referencing Bourne's Interpol notice. I've been monitoring their communications and they've dispatched two cars, and diverted two foot patrols that were in the area. They're converging on his location even as we speak and should be effecting a positive identification within the next 5-minutes." _

"I don't give a fuck who they send, they won't get him. Bourne's training is too top notch."

"_Are you saying that you don't believe Ms. Possible's claims that he's forgotten who he is, sir?"_

"It doesn't matter if he's lost his memory, he's faking it, or if Possible is lying through her teeth. The fact is that he's made it all the way back to Paris and got past Choirboy. That tells me that there's enough Jason Bourne in him to make him a survivor and that makes him a threat to your nation, Agent Parsons. As long as there's even the threat that he can wander off and spill his guts, our nation's world-standing remains at risk and that is not a risk I'm ready to accept, are you?"

"_No, Sir."_

The senior agent took a deep breath, regaining his composure. "The fact that we have assets such as him doesn't bother me, Hell, every nation with an intelligence service has at one point or another. Just look at MI6 and the Mossad. What differentiates Treadstone from those other agencies is that we are targeted against the businessmen and politicians that threaten, even indirectly, American economic, political and social independence. Do you see the distinction, Agent Parsons? Other agencies target dissenters and opposing operatives."

"Our targets aren't James Bond villains," Conklin continued, momentarily irritated that Possible's reference to the fictional, British agent had worked its way into his lecture. "We aren't interested in the guy who's stroking a puffy, white cat and plotting world domination. Our targets will appear at first glance, which is as far as the local press will go, like everyday people who excel in their chosen professions, but whose plans and ideals differ from ours. 'Ours' being the American Way of Life and standing upon the World Stage. The public will decide that we sent big, bad Jason Bourne to kick down their doors and send them to permanent beddy-by all because they did their jobs well and didn't support Uncle Sam like we wanted them to. If Jason Bourne's existence becomes revealed, our existence becomes revealed and then the USA, baseball, mom's fucken' apple pie and everything else included in this Norman Rockwell wet dream, is officially fucked in the ass without us even getting kissed, first."

"Your nation will no longer be able to claim the moral high ground anymore." Conklin maintained his unrelenting lecture. "We will no longer be able to maintain our role as the world's moral leader and police force. Every existing and potential ally will bow to misinformed, public opinion and break off relations with us. Think of it, Agent Parsons, one single article in the _'Times', 'Post'_ or even '_USA Today'_, with a living, breathing Jason Bourne as evidence, and we will lose the leverage we have spent the last seventy years cultivating. The world will perceive America's prosperity as having being the outcome of our assassins eliminating any challengers."

"I don't care if Bourne is or isn't aware of who he is or was, his recent actions have made him a risk to the entire US population. That damn debutante, Possible, is looking at the situation with narrow vision and selfish intent. He's a mad dog, Parsons, and for the good of everyone, himself included, he needs to be put down. End of story."

"_So sir, are you telling me that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, and Jason Bourne happens to be one of the few?"_

Agent Conklin had to respect and admire the young blonde; she was certainly someone with the smarts to make it far in this line of work. She was able to challenge her superiors, argue their will, without appearing to step out of line. He chuckled inwardly; whatever Possible had said to her, before she forwarded the call to him, must have hit a soft spot. He needed to belay her questions, discretely, to guarantee her willful cooperation.

"That's the way the world works, Agent Parsons, it always has. It's a shame, he was a real find but his exposure could crush our team. That would be bad enough, but it wouldn't stop at the team. For our citizens' well being, which is our job to protect, he has to disappear. Remember what I always say: _'If you're not an asset, you're a liability'_. His discovery will jeopardize Treadstone 71's survival and the very reason we exist. As for Possible, despite her 'normal girl' claim, she's always been about the glory and the adulation from the masses. This is the real world and we don't have the luxury of supporting a superstar. She's a cardboard hero, Parsons, the type of person that the Wheeties people put on the back of their cereal boxes. She knows nothing of the real world or what it truly takes to make a difference. Remember, history's important events have always been written in blood, by the brave, dedicated, and usually anonymous. The time has come to end Jason Bourne's chapter and as for Possible, she wrote her last, meaningless sentence a long time ago."

"_Speaking of Possible, what do you want me to do about her, sir? Should I add her to the 'Interpol List' with Bourne and Marie?"_

"Are you out of your ever-loving mind? The moment we add a high profile name, we'll have a dozen agencies and news outlets questioning its validity, which is the last thing we need. We have to get a little…creative…to finish her off." The gruff, senior agent paused in thought for a few seconds before an interesting possibility presented itself. "How far have you gotten with establishing Choirboy's background story?"

"_Not far, Sir. In fact, I had only managed to find out which morgue received his body, when she called."_

"Good. Drop whatever you had planned. I want you to plant a story in the media, something that will both sow a little dissent amongst the pigeons and get the general public involved."

"_Sir?"_

"A Kidnapping!" He declared, "send an anonymous story to some international news outlets. Something along the lines of _'Famed teen adventurer and heroine was kidnapped in Paris, while visiting her boyfriend.' _Be sure to say that the boyfrie…no! Scrap that! Change it to Lover! Say that her lover was killed during the crime. A boyfriend won't call 'Snow-White's' morality into question but traveling all the way to Paris to meet her lover? Imagine the reporters interviewing dear old mommy and daddy Possible and they don't know anything about a man in her life! Everyone will start wondering why the virginal angel is going through that kind of effort, crossing the Atlantic, just to keep her folks from finding out about her little roll in the hay! The rumors about her little bedroom adventures, and her partners in them, will run rampant. Doctor up some images of Possible and Choirboy together in some…affectionate… poses. You know the drill; in front of the Eiffel Tower and other tourist traps. Make a few, risqué ones, as well. Release them a few hours later, that will make the story more authentic."

"_Umm … sir, isn't this over elaborating things just a bit? Don't we try to obscure the details, instead of creating new ones? If you're thinking of using this to draw Bourne out, I don't think it'll work. He knows that Possible is with him willingly."_

"I'm not planting this to draw Bourne out; mind-fucked or not, he'll be too smart for that game. No, this is for Possible's benefit. Possible's a prima donna, she's all about her reputation. Once she starts seeing the media drag her image through the mud, she'll go one of two ways; she'll either contact the media to contradict their story or she'll contact her family or friends to tell them that it's all a lie. Whatever she does, it will help draw her out into the open and right into our crosshairs, dragging Bourne with her. Besides, the way she was mouthing off, I got the impression that she's still romantically invested in Bourne but too chicken-shit to tell him everything. The media circus will mess up whatever she's trying to rebuild and THAT will make her react impulsively."

"_In other words, she wants to feed him the truth, bite by bite, without revealing everything on the plate until he's already swallowed most of it?"_

"Good metaphor. Possible like's things to go according to plan; her plan. Thinking on her feet has never been her personal strong point. Oh, she used to be damn good at quick reactions, but thinking, not so much. Once the stories that she was involved with Choirboy hit the scandal rags, she'll freak the moment Bourne sees them."

"_But sir, won't Bourne realize that it's a load of crap?"_

"**He'll** know it and **she'll** know it, but she won't trust him to know it. Agent Parsons, you haven't had the chance to dig into the Team Possible dynamic. Kim Possible never really trusted her former partner to make the decisions and formulate the opinions she wanted him to. Right now, she could tell him the entire truth, show him the entire plate, and he'd be willing to accept the good with the bad. However, she won't be able to do that for fear that he won't. She'll try to give it to him in measured doses, like you said. What will make him blow up, Agent Parsons, is discovering the game she's going to be playing. **That** will cause dissention among them and **that**, Agent Parsons, is what will cause their fatal mistake."

"_I see, you're going to give her the rope and let her hang herself. Back to the operation, these…special photos…how explicit do you want me to make them? Do you want topless or…"_

"It doesn't matter, the media will fuzz out the raunchy bits, covered or not." He chuckled, "I knew a scandal rag editor who posted 'incriminating' celebrity photos. The girl was actually wearing fairly modest bikini and he blurred it out. Even after the unmodified photos were released, his viewers refused to believe that she hadn't been naked in public. Anyway, they don't have to be _'adults only'_, just something that says she's trying to impress the guy with her. The press, and she, will take it from there."

"_Umm… Sir, Choirboy was apparently wearing an abseiling harness."_

"What? So?"

"_The responding Metro Police noted the harness, in writing, when they loaded him into the ambulance. I was planing to include a couple of second story burglary convictions in his false records. The police would pick up on that and classify his death as a botched burglary. Now we're saying that he was getting jiggy with Possible, how does the harness fit into that?"_

"You deal with the details and I'll deal with the big-picture. Just get those creative juices flowing and make up something plausible. Imply something kinky, that the two were into some kind of BDSM shit, which should help tarnish her polish. I want all of France… correction, all of Europe, to be looking for Possible, after the 6 o'clock news. Understand?"

"_Yes, Sir."_

"Besides, it will be an excellent cover story when this all comes to term. When all this is done, we'll make it look like an unknown assailant kidnapped Possible, killed her lover, then killed her when she tried to escape him. Hell, we can even make it look like she died doing something heroic, like trying to rescue one Miss Kreutz."

"_Yes sir. Neat and tidy, but…"_

"But what, Agent Parson's?"

"_I'm sorry sir, but I don't think I can execute your instructions in the allotted time. There is no way I can substantiate these claims in time for the networks to get it on the evening news. I should be able to produce a picture or two, and maybe some innuendo. I won't, however, be able to produce anything concrete, certainly nothing that will hold up to scrutiny."_

"The closer to the deadline the better; they won't have time to check the facts too deeply and they'll be focused on reporting the big story. If there's one thing a news agency doesn't like to do, it's watching a competing agency reporting the Breaking News."

'_Wait a moment, sir,"_ there was a pause on the other end of the line and then Conklin's subordinate reported in with an excited tone.

"_Sir, the Metro have just spotted the subcompact and have called it in. They're about to approach the vehicle, Sir."_

_**/////**_

_**\\\\\**_

A/N – Too everyone who has been anxious and awaiting this chapter, I hope that the wait has been deemed worthwhile. The truth is that this Chapter was originally 40-pages long (_I kid you not_) so to ensure that nothing is lost, I have whittled it into two separate and stand alone pieces. The next chapter will be posted in a few days from now – That's a promise! 

As always, I wish to bow down to my beta, who is in truth closer to an active co-writer of this story. Daccu65, remains a steadfast talent and inspiration and any review offered to me is one truly earned by him as well. So shower us with Reviews and let us know of your love ;-)…lol.

_**NEXT:**_ Kim returns to the Mini and is welcomed by a grumpy and hostile Jason. Car Chases, Narrow Escapes, Confession's and … Porn(?)

Oh yeah, Jason has had enough of dancing to _'Tiffany's_ tune and decides to get answers!!!


	9. Chapter 9

Walking down the street as quickly as she was able, Kim focused on not limping. It wasn't easy, since her knee screamed in protest every time it accepted her weight. When her eyes finally spotted the red, subcompact; one she had half-expected Ron to retrieve the keys from Marie and leave her stranded she felt a wave of relief set itself upon her. Suddenly, it became easier to walk, easier to ignore the pain in her knee; she would be sitting next to Ron in a moment or two and it was that happy image that filled her mind with every quickened footfall.

However, that lightness and eagerness of her spirits and heart didn't last long for her. As soon as she sat in the seat she had vacated twenty minutes earlier, she felt the tension in the cockpit's atmosphere. Not only was the silence unnerving, but the inhabitants' expressions had changed. Instead of the controlled suspicion, Ron had a harsh expression and refused to meet her eyes. Instead of sympathy, Marie was looking almost guilty and also tried to avoid eye contact with her.

"So what happened?"

Despite the fact she was expecting the question, Ron's tone startled Kim. "Sorry?" She replied.

"With your contact," Ron clarified, clearly not wanting to speak to her. "Is she going to help or not?"

"Definitely a _'not'_," she replied. "In fact, she made it very clear that I…er…we, are on our own."

Ron's lack of reaction caught her by surprise. She was expecting anger, panic, maybe even the same relief she had felt earlier, when everyone finally made their intentions clear. Instead, Ron simply studied the traffic and pedestrians outside the car; a stoic, blank expression fixed on his face

Not knowing how to deal with her former boyfriend, Kim turned to face her fellow passenger, hoping to find out what had happened in her absence. Not wanting to speak, Kim raised her eyebrows and slowly, deliberately shifted her eyes first towards Ron, then back towards Marie.

The bohemian met her glance and offered a tight smile, indicating that she understood the unspoken question. The younger woman paused a moment, trying to come up with a statement that would relieve the tension, start a beneficial conversation, and not cause the tense atmosphere to explode. Jason had retreated into a brooding silence, ever since Marie had suggested that there might have been trouble between him and Tiffany, at some time in the unremembered past. Marie admitted that it was a weak theory of possible infidelity, but much like the comment that he must have been socially inept in his younger years, it had triggered a very intense reaction. A reaction that raised, for the young man, a possibility of truth.

Forcing a false cheerfulness into her voice, Marie decided to chip away at the thick atmosphere. "Hey, guess what," she declared. "While you were out, we had ourselves a breakthrough; didn't we, Jason? He remembered a few things. Apparently, our boy was a bit of a _'playa'_ in his younger days."

Kim's face went chalk white, her eyes bulged and she could feel sweat break beading on her skin. Her heart began to beat triple time and her breath caught in her throat.

"WHAT?" She demanded, she looked back and forth between her two companions, so rapidly that her hair snapped out horizontally. "You remembered something?" What did you remember?" She asked Ron. Not waiting for his reply, she returned her attention to the bohemian in the back seat. "Marie, tell me what he remembered!"

"Whoa, there. Chill. He just had a few flickers of things when he was a teenager that's all; a couple of hotties that he had a thing for when he was still a _stud-in-training_."

Kim's anxiety diminished, even though she didn't care for the seductive, teasing manner Marie used to say 'stud in training'. She felt a reprieve in that it wasn't anything Treadstone related. Still, hotties? She couldn't let this go without finding out a little more.

"What do you mean by _'flickers_? What the hell does that mean? Does it mean memories? Images? What?!?" She asked the bohemian.

"It means what it means. I was messing around, trying to relieve the tension and I made a passing comment about how he must have behaved in High School. The result? A flashback experience of a few babes and some other stuff, that's all."

Kim tried to compose herself, the last thing she wanted was for Marie and Ron to become suspicious towards her concern and suspect that she was holding something back from them. "Your right, I overreacted. But for the record, R… um… Jason only had one girlfriend in his life and you're looking at her. We did just about everything together, from the age of five onwards. So believe me, he was no 'playa', even though he **thought** he was a couple of times. And there were no _'Hotties'_ in his life that I didn't know about."

Ron gave her a piercing look as she spoke, his eye squinting like something she said had troubled him. "A blonde teenybopper, an Asian and an _artiactivo chica_. If you know me, then you must know them as well, right?"

Kim didn't know what startled her more, the fact that Ron's voice was practically dripping with suspicion or that his latest memories, like all of the ones he had glimpsed, were from before he became involved with Treadstone and totally devoid of anything 'her' related. She guessed that this must be significant, even though she didn't know why. More importantly, why had he suddenly become icy, suspicious? Could he have picked up something in these 'flickers' that alienated her? No, she didn't believe that. Their teenaged, pre-Treadstone years were an innocent, trusting time, before the staged betrayal, manipulation and murders. Still, she didn't know what even an innocent memory could provoke, given his mind's unstable condition. One random thought could lead to another that could inadvertently lead to another and open the door to a 'Jason Bourne' or Treadstone initiation memory. She decided to proceed carefully but with as much honesty as she could, to avoid losing what little trust she had established.

"Well, you knew a lot of girls, Jason. I mean you were on our High School Pep Squad, so you knew quite a few attractive and pro-spirited girls."

"_PEP SQUAD_?!?!?! You were a cheerleader? _YOU?!?_" Marie covered her mouth, unable to block a burst of laughter. "That is so funny. Mr. _'won't crack a smile'_. Baseball, I can believe, wrestling, football, basketball, I can believe, but; one, two, three, four who the hell are we rooting for? Not a chance!"

Kim felt a fresh flare of hostility towards the younger woman, a well-placed bit of anger against the high school stereotypes and those who bought into them. She hated the code that stated that just because Ron Stoppable didn't do the 'guy' things that he was less masculine or even a _'fairy'_. In addition, mocking cheerleading was an express lane to her bad side. Ron had only joined the pep squad because she was on it and he wanted to spend more time hanging out with his best friend. It was a sweet and adorable gesture that had earned more than one bullying attack from the assorted school jocks. And even though she had suspected that these incidents were happening on a nearly daily basis, she never stepped in to stop them. She knew all too well that doing so would not eradicate the problem, but make it even worse, forcing him to deal with the taunts that he needed a girl to fight his battles for him. Image meant so much in high school, even Mr. _'you get saved by a girl…repeatedly'_ Barkin had bought in to so many of the stereotypes, while conveniently forgetting that Ron needed to be saved by a girl because he constantly put himself in harms way. Now, hearing Marie laugh at Ron for all those…childish…reasons brought her old irritations to the fore.

"_**Actually**_," Kim growled to the woman in the back seat. "He _**was**_ on the football team our senior year, if you must know. In one year, he became the best running back our school ever produced, carrying the team to the state tournament. Oh, and by the way, he wasn't actually a cheerleader, he was the school mascot."

"Oh, that's _so_ much better," Jason's sarcastic voice chimed in. "Being the school's self-appointed clown and buff…buffoon is such an improvement." He scowled, as if the last statement had left a biter taste in his mouth. Shaking his head, as if shrugging off Tiffany's comforting words, he continued. "No wonder I remember everyone calling me a loser, but it certainly explains why the blonde I remembered was wearing a cheerleader's uniform."

"Did this blonde, by chance have long, wavy hair?" Kim asked, her eyes widening in surprise, prior to this point there was nothing she could relate to. She was more or less acting on solo faith that Treadstone and Dr Director had not been stringing her hopes along. After all, there was nothing at all Ron in his manner. There were similarities, but nothing concrete that she could latch onto and say with definite conviction that this man was once Ronald Dean Stoppable.

"Yeah," Ron answered, still suspicious. "She did. Why?"

"Was she, I don't know, wholesome looking?"

Ron's eyes narrowed, unsure as to where the redhead was going with this line of enquiry.

When Jason didn't answer straight away, Marie's excitement took over and replied on his behalf. "Yeah. Jason said that she gave of a 'Preacher's Daughter' vibe. Why, do you know who he's talking about?"

"Yeah, I think I do," Kim nodded to herself. "Her name is Tara. I think you remembered Tara Goodie." Kim could now see the link between all the girls mentioned; aka _'The Hotties'_, they were girls that Ron was either sweet on, or who had crushed on him.

With a sudden burst of grateful and invigorated energy, Kim seized Ron's hands, pulling them off of the steering wheel and squeezing them as she cocked her leg and positioned herself to more fully face him in the set seats. Her excitement and enthusiasm overwhelming her, they had firmly touched onto a _'Ron'_ memory. Not a Treadstone or a Jason Bourne recap. This was pure _Ron Stoppable_, no one else.

"Tara Goodie was a member of our cheer squad _**and**_," she paused to emphasize her next phrase. "She had a major sweet crush on you."

"So … we dated then?"

Kim scowled; irritated that he ignored and had dismissed her earlier statement. "**No**, like I said, **I** was your first, and only, official girlfriend. But still, you were her _'knight in shining armor'_. She always thought you were a sweet guy, but then on excursion for the squad to compete in an out-of-town Pep Rally. You rescued her, the entire squad actually, from a major freakazoid and that had a **mondo** impact on her. The only problem was that you were completely clueless to her feelings and her many sweet efforts to get your attention. You just thought that she was a sweet, friendly girl. Which she was, and was in spades. But by the time you realized she was sweet on you, she was already dating another guy, convinced that you would never see her as anything but a good friend. When you discovered that she had been pining for you for close to two-years, well, you practically gave yourself a concussion due to the repeated pounding you did to your head against the gym wall. It was pretty funny at the time, for me and Monique, not for you. Obviously."

"Monique?"

"You could say she was our 'third wheel' in High School. More my friend then yours though."

"So, all my friends in High School were girls?"

"No. There was Felix. He was to you, what Mon was to me. A same-sex buddy."

"And I never picked up on the fact that this _'Tara Goodie'_ liked me? I guess if I didn't notice that she was interested in me, I mustn't have thought that much of her."

"No, that's not true, at least not completely. She was the first girl that actually ever kissed you. Sure, it was one of those sweet chased kisses on the cheek, but prior to that the only other kisses you had gotten were either platonic or relative-related. And I wouldn't go so far as to say you were _'disinterested'_ in her; you were just a little bit slow on the signals. I suppose in a lot of ways that was my fault, we had grown up together and spent a lot of our waking moments in eachother's company that you got kinda used to girls. As such you never noticed when a girl was being just '_nice_' to being '_extra nice_'; you never saw the signals that others easily would. And I'm pretty sure that if you had known how she felt at the time, the two of us probably wouldn't have moved past good friends."

"Where a-typical romances came and went in High School, you were one of those guys who would've been completely loyal to who ever you gave your heart too. And for a lot of girls, and guys, that's actually pretty scary stuff. I mean, most of the girls on the Squad actually liked you. There was Hope, Cleo, Faith and Michelle. They thought you were funny, creative and had a lot of sincerity. You also didn't look at 'us' live a ravenous wolf who had just spied a defenceless and injured lamb. But the trouble is at that age nobody wants to date their _'Life Partner'_ on the first go. Nobody but Tara, that is."

"If you and her had hooked up you would have been a hundred and ten percent true to her and would have refused to let your eye wander. Not that there were many who could have competed with Tara, I means she was the idealized version of the _All-American Girl_. Sweet, blonde, bubbly and athletic. Most of the jocks at school thought she was a trophy-catch. Actually they thought that about all the Cheerleader's, they didn't bother to discriminate. As far as they were concerned, as long as they were pretty, built and waved their Pom-Poms around, they didn't really care if we had anything between our ears, an opinion, or if our personalities were caustic or as dull as 10-day old dish water. But as I said, Tara was seen by many of the Jock's as the exception. I mean a blonde cheerleader who is a little bit innocent and naive? If she hadn't had Bonnie, of all people, watching her back, she probably would have been passed around like a hip flask on Prom Night. Tara was one of those girls who you'd believe would grow up to be a Nun, y'know what I mean?"

Ron looked at Kim with a blank expression, but Marie sat nodding her head as though she could mentally envision what kind of person this 'Tara' was without having a need to meet her.

For some strange reason, Kim was beginning to find comfort in chatting about the _'Good old days'_ and replaying the memories in her mind that she hadn't thought of in literally years.

"I think what Tara liked most about you, Jason, was that you weren't the kind of guy to take advantage of her. You wouldn't brag to your buds the next day after a date exaggerating and lying on how far they _'got'_ the night before with her. You wouldn't pressure her to do anything that she would have been uncomfortable with, and you wouldn't try decorate your bedroom wall with her panties. Like 'Brick' apparently did. And despite the fact that Bon-Bon had always treated you like crap, going on and on about the _'food-chain'_, I really think that deep down, 'B', trusted you a Hell of a lot more around her best-friend than any of the other guys at school. And thinking back now, I honestly think that the _'Queen B'_, like we called her, wouldn't have given you half as much grief that she did if you _**had**_ dated Tara. I mean, Tara had this thing for you and you were blind to it. Speaking as a best friend of you at the time, if anyone dissed you like she probably thought you were doing to Tara? Well, there would be no-way that person wouldn't have end up on my bad side. And knowing how close those two were, I suspect that 'B' probably had more then one 2am phone call from a tearful 'T' asking _'why, oh why doesn't he notice me?' _So getting back at you through her insults was probably her way of balancing up the scales for ignoring her best friend's attention. Though to be honest she was a pain-in-the-backside for both you and me and had it in for you long before Tara started to bat her eyes … but I suppose the two of you were never meant to be." Kim paused a moment, temporarily caught in the innocent memory of the time when her world only centred on Cheerleading, Ron-Night and Bueno Nacho after School.

"I suppose when all is said and done, I probably owe her a bit of a debt. Tara, not Bon-Bon, I mean. Because it was directly after you realized that she had had a crush on you that you realized that pretty girls weren't automatically out of your league. In a way, she kinda paved the way for us."

"What about the Asian and Latino?" Ron's voice hadn't lost its edge, but he was looking more softly at Kim's face then he was a moment earlier. His eyes carefully exploring her face as she offered her recount of yesteryear. "Were they _'never meant to be'_, as well? Because despite what you just said I kinda had the impression that I had feelings for them, as well as Tara. Sure, maybe I never acted on these emotions but I don't think that stopped me from wanting too. I got the impression that there was always _**something**_ in the way and kept preventing me from going through with it."

Kim sighed. Understanding the complexities of their lives as teenagers back then. "Our teenage years weren't exactly normal, Jason. We, you and I, had unique responsibilities that often got in the way of romance, even our own."

"So I never had a girlfriend other than you, is that right?" He softly demanded. "You're saying that you were my one and only true love, but I have to wonder, was I _yours_ as well?"

Kim blinked a few times at Ron's gentle accusation, there was a subtle edge not in what he was saying, but *how* he was saying it; it seemed to her like he was trying to catch her in some falsehood. She didn't know what to make of it, had he remembered something that made him mistrust her? It didn't help that she didn't know the exact nature of these _'flickers'_ or their true emotional impact upon him.

Perhaps he was remembering the negative aspects of how she treated his interactions, or lack thereof, with the three girls? That would certainly describe the _'coldness'_ of his present engagements with her. She remembered, ashamedly, that he had been irritated with her when he found out that she had _'conveniently'_ failed to tell him that Tara was crushing on him for nearly two-years and there were similar memories of less the stellar examples associated to how she managed herself with the other two.

She had no doubt that Yori was the Asian girl and that Zita Flores was the Hispanic. She remembered accusing Yori of working for Monkeyfist when she first met her and, once again, conveniently failed to tell Ron that the ninja was interested in him, at least until she was safely on a helicopter, flying away back to Japan.

As for Zita, how had Kim handled her best friend's first, obvious crush? She had joined Monique in ridiculing his reaction; finding mirth and amusement when he approached them both seeking their advice to help impress his new lady-love. When the tables had been turned a year earlier and she tried, unsuccessfully, to start a relationship with Josh Mankey, Ron was there for her a hundred percent and then some. His recommendations, although bizarre, had always been sincere and only had her happiness in mind.

She, however, was a rotten friend to Ron whenever the prospect of being with Josh came up. Looking back now on the _'Josh Experience'_ she mentally cringes at how selfish she acted.

Maybe _Mr Spook_ was right. Maybe she was all about her image? How the person she was with would reflect upon her. Aside from his good looks and suave cool manners, she and Josh really did not share too many ideologies or interests. He was into art and drama, and she was into cheerleading and world-saving. She only wanted to date him because he was such an exclusive person, which alone should have told her about the level of his _'standards'_. The fact that he had rejected even Bonnie's advances made him a prize worth pursuing, at least from a competitive and _'Kim-ness'_ perspective. It took nearly a year of looking like a fool in front of her crush for her to finally wake-up to herself and her true motivations to want to be Josh's Girlfriend.

Mentally shuddering at the memory of her years-old-realisation, Kim looked carefully at the male's hands that were resting in her grasp. These were the same hands that held her during fateful dance when she had finally looked at Ron and how special he was, not only in her life but also in her heart. They were strong hands, hands that would hold on to anything of value to him for dear death and she wondered just how many times had these same hands strangled the life out of another person? This man sitting in front of her was a great departure from the boy she grew up with. This man was resourceful and unrelenting, logical and full of self-control. And it was these qualities that worried her the most. Because this 'Ron' was always thinking, always seeing the angles.

How could she justify herself in the name of love when all it would take is a simple flashback, or 'flicker', that would expose her as not being the best of friend's as she was presently trying had to establish in his empty mind.

Would he recall that she had kicked him into a Janitor's Closet and then conveniently forgot that it had a self-locking door when Mankey approached and asked her to be his partner for the Dance that night?

This thought now cemented itself as one of the foundations of her concern. She was so excited after Josh had asked her that she ran home and spent the entire afternoon getting ready, putting on her makeup and her best dress. She didn't even notice that Ron hadn't even attended the Dance until she returned home that evening at 11 and found a frantic Mr and Mrs Stoppable in her families lounge room asking if she knew where their '_baby boy'_ had been. Needless to say she was able to recall exactly when she had last seen Ron and from that she realised what might have happened to him. One excited phone call to Mr Barkin requesting to meet her and Ron's family out the front of the School with his key's ended the mystery of the missing Ron Stoppable. He made jokes and his mother was far from impressed, but she knew deep down how hurt he had been to have missed out on biggest School Dance of the Year. She wouldn't have blamed him if he didn't speak or even acknowledge her for a month and then some. But he never mentioned it again beyond that night, saying he didn't have a date anyway so he probably would've spent it all just standing besides the Cherry Punch anyway. That only made her feel even worse, so she swore black and blue to him that she would never place another boy above her friendship with him ever again.

That promise lasted all of one-month as she schemed, plotted and lied in-order to ditch him on Halloween for a party, where that same boy was playing in the band. When her parent's found out the extent of her dishonesty, not only to her annual commitment to Ron but also to them, she was grounded for a whole month. You'd think that these two sour experiences would have been enough to teach her a lesson, but it didn't. Because three-months later Josh asked her out on an actual date, a date that conflicted with her being involved in Drakken's latest scheme to eliminate the leader of Team Possible. She had even broken her promise to Ron to stay at home as she was _'slowly disappearing due to embarrassment'_ and Ron and a Wade-Droid went all the way to the Amazon to retrieve a rare flower that could save her life. Needless to say, they were successful. But just barely. Whenever Josh was in the picture, it was all about her and her insecurities.

How could she answer Ron's question honestly, without risking any exposure to an errant memory of Josh, or even worse … _Eric_? The name of Synthodrone 901 still sent a chill down her spine and she could not help but recall Dr Director's suspicion that name of Derrick had been an extension of the name _Eric_ and was specifically targeted by Psychiatrist's overseeing Ron's compliance and 'adjustment' to help push him over the edge and get him to commit to the Treadstone Project.

Ron, who was capable of so much love had chosen to become a killer. All because Treadstone made him believe that she had treated his heart with disrespect. She wished, even now, she could have argued this perception to Ron but after months of conditioning and re-conditioning all he would have had been left with would have been the memories of someone she had trouble admitting to other's that she had once been.

Yet even through all the nonsense, Ron always remained sensitive to her happiness and rated that first before his own. When Josh started dating Tara, his first concern was about how this would affect her. And when she said she was fine with it, it was only then he started banging his head against the wall. He genuinely cared for her when he saw her first crush kissing another girl. But how did she treat his first decent into the scary world of hormone-induced idiocy? Like a reality show _'Train Wreak'_ in the making, that's how. Not exactly her finest _'Bestest-Best-Friend-Forever'_ hour, that's for sure.

When Ron was trying to gather his courage, she and Monique had shared some stage whispers, suggesting that the theater employee was out of his league, but they would get a laugh out of seeing him try. Yet despite the fact that she had failed to encourage him and had laughed at his first trip down hormone lane, Zita had become his first girlfriend. It was only the fact that the teenage couple had only gone out a couple of times, before Ron's insecurities drove him to lie to her, that Kim had christened Zita an 'unofficial' girlfriend. Besides, Zita and Ron had only done _'non-dating'_ things together, like hang out a Buenos Nacho, play on-line video games and see guy-oriented action flicks. They hadn't really been an item, had they?

On this reflection, Kim had to concede that Ron and Zita had certainly gone on more _'_outings_'_ than she had with Josh. _**AND**_ they had more fun and didn't find each other's company boring or strained. Unlike that one date and Dance she and Josh had where he engaged her with **endless** chitchat about one popular art period as opposed to the influence of another.

Ron and Zita actually enjoyed some of the same things, freeing them to simply enjoy each other's company. Somehow, she doubted that Zita ever had a swarm of killer butterflies in her stomach when she ever said _'Hey'_ to Ron, or the when the two of them were sitting side-by-side in a dark movie theatre watching _'Bricks of Fury II'_. Not like what she had with Josh whenever he smiled in her general direction.

How she now wished that this new Ron was like her old one! The old Ron would babble and ramble, giving her a clue to his intent and then taking so long to get to the point that she had figured out what he was trying to say before he said it. This new one however, spoke in short, efficient sentences, getting to the point as quickly as possible while observing her reactions, trying to glean information she didn't realize she was divulging.

In truth, she had no problem telling him about his history with Tara and Zita, mainly because both girls had been known entities to her. Not only that, but Tara had moved on to date first Josh, then Jason Morgan. Zita had taken up with Felix Renton, whom Ron had actually introduced her too with the insane hopes at the time that some 'sparkage' would occur. He was eventually proved right and the two started dating – _Officially_ immediately after they met.

Yori, however, was another matter altogether.

How in the Hell could she talk to Ron about Yori? First of all, she didn't know very much about the lithe ninja, or her interactions with Ron. While Ron had admitted that Yamanouchi was a secret ninja training school and she had actually been there twice, she didn't know the gory details about Ron's visit to the place during that week when he played '_Exchange Student'_. There was a very real chance that if she said the wrong thing, Ron could recall some details about the place and divulge them to people that shouldn't know about the covert institution. Beyond that, there was Yori herself. Kim never forgot Ron's look of stunned amazement and lust-stained eyes as Yori walked down the school's corridor, in a tight white blouse and a short … _incredibly_ short, blue tartan Catholic Girl's skirt. He was pure putty in that oriental… hussy's …hands when she asked for his help. Kim didn't know what she hated more, the fact that Ron followed Yori with all the enthusiasm that he gave her, or the fact that Ron had never looked at her with the same, stunned admiration.

It had been a guilty pleasure, bordering on sort of a selfish revenge, telling Ron that the crush he obviously had for the ninja was a two-way street as they both watched the helicopter carry Yori away. Hearing him berate himself over the missed opening as they returned to Middleton, made all the anxiety and apprehension she felt as she was looking for him, worrying about his safety and of course the jeallin' all worthwhile and justified.

During a later mission, Yori had gracefully conceded Ron's affections to Kim when they had become a couple, honoring and respecting Ron's decision to give the redhead his heart. Yori, Yamanouchi, Monkey Kung Fu, the MMP and the ultimate monkey master were so interconnected with one another. How could she speak about one aspect, Yori, without bleeding onto another? How could she do this without overloading his already saturated and confused brain?

To add to the problem, what if these teenaged romantic revelations inadvertently opened the door to other romantic interludes of his? What if by talking about his love-life she inadvertently triggered off his memories with Nicky Parsons? Such a memory might open a door to Treadstone, then to the indoctrination he suffered, and then to the staged, but real in his memory, betrayal by her with that fictitious _'Derrick'_ character.

Fortunately, Marie's frantic interruption saved Kim from having to answer Ron's questions. "Um, Jason?" The vagabond's voice crept in from the back seat. "I think we have company and they probably bought their own handcuffs."

Ron wrenched his hands out of 'Tiffany's' grasp, so he could turn his body and look out of the subcompact's rear windshield. He spotted two policemen, approaching cautiously on foot, while one spoke into a walkie-talkie. Muttering a guttural word (Kim was thankful she didn't hear it clearly) he swung around to look to the front. There, he saw a police vehicle slow to a stop, then turn to block off the street.

Wasting no time, Ron turned to fix his companions with an intense stare. "If either of you have any doubts, this is your last chance to bail out. Get out of the car now and you can explain your way out of everything. Stay, and you're going to have to take your chances with me."

Kim had made up her mind before meeting Nicky, but what about Marie? The bohemian's only response was to fasten her seatbelt before leaning forward and handing Ron the ignition key.

Without saying anything, Ron accepted the car key and offered the gypsy a small, quick smile of gratitude. Kim, however, received a curt nod of acknowledgment, delivered while he fastened his own seatbelt. Kim only had a moment to feel slighted by the exchange, before Ron gunned the engine and peeled out of the parking space. Shifting from first to second gears with the startling efficiency of a formula one driver, he sped up the street towards the blockading Police Car, showing neither hesitation nor intent to stop.

Kim's fingers buried themselves in the dashboard and the armrest. The redhead found herself performing an impromptu duo with Marie, the two women emitting harmonic shrieks, rising in tone, begging Ron to stop. This proved to be convenient for the man, as he was able to ignore both requests, simultaneously.

The policeman driving the blockading vehicle gawked at the oncoming subcompact, knowing that there was no way the oncoming kamikaze would be able to stop before a collision. Instinct and impulse overrode training and the driver lurched forward, to get out of the subcompact's path. Unfortunately, this moved caused him to plow into the vehicles parallel parked in front of him.

Less than two seconds from impact, the police car's motion opened a gap behind it, a gap just wide enough for Ron to guide the undersized car through. The reprieve proved to be short lived as a burst of sound and light ahead of them announced another pursuit car moving in to head them off.

Ron dropped down a gear and spun the wheel to his left with machine-like precision, guiding them into a one-lane alley. The tires screeched in protest as the car fishtailed, smacking the rear axle into the concrete curb and bouncing the occupants inside like dice in a cup. Somehow, the rough handling brought a little of Kim's teenage years back, so she was able to regain her composure, leaving Marie to continue her terrified wail as a solo act. Kim looked back, ignoring her protesting ribs, to see the police cruiser turn into the alleyway. While the smaller car had gained an initial lead by maneuvering rapidly, the larger, more powerful vehicle quickly devoured he gap on the straight run.

The lights became brighter and the siren became louder, competing with Marie, with every passing second. Kim spun back to face forward, noting that there were no access or egress points along their route, only the fast-approaching exit onto another Parisian Street. With green eyes opening wider than their already surprised state, Kim realized that a traffic snarl had effectively blocked their exit. Kim opened her mouth, ready to warn Ron about the impending collision…

"Belt up and assume crash positions… NOW!!!" Ron's voice brooked no argument and told Kim that he was well aware of their dilemma. Kim spun her head for one last look at the oncoming cruiser. With this fearful image imprinted in her memory, she turned forward once more and assumed a seated fetal position, planting and lacing her hands and fingers over her head.

Kim's next sensation wasn't a collision, like she was expecting. Instead, she felt/heard Ron downshift before slamming on the brakes. The car skidded to a momentary halt before Ron manipulated the stick shift again. Kim was caught completely by surprise when the car lurched backwards. Hesitantly, she unlaced her fingers and peered behind her to see the police vehicle mimicking Ron's strategy, running back down the alley in reverse. In an odd and comical sort of way, the police appeared to be fleeing Ron, but there was nothing funny about the entire sitch; this was pure terror.

In a desperate act, Ron had turned the tables on the pursuing lawmen. What had Parson's told her? Jason Bourne was nobody's prey, he was the predator. Well, in this instance that had proven itself accurate, as no longer was Ron the hunted anymore, he had now become the HUNTER.

The policeman driving the cruiser was desperately fleeing the subcompact, trying to avoid a collision with the reckless man. The cruiser's driver was handicapped by the need to both guide his vehicle down the narrow alley and to keep an eye on the oncoming subcompact. The larger vehicle swerved along the narrow path as the desperate lawman tried to keep control.

Kim stole a quick glance to the man next to her. Ron's face showed no stress or fear, only cold determination and concentration. Jason Bourne had stepped to the forefront and she pleased to have _him_ at the wheel. Jason reversed the subcompact down the alley in a straight line, apparently trying to force a collision with the fleeing cruiser. The thrill junkie of her youth couldn't help but turn around once more and watch the scene playing out. With each maddening second, the police vehicle strove to both increase the gap and stay on the narrow course, but with each second both vehicles came closer to their point of initial entry into the alleyway.

Kim felt a slight deceleration before being pressed back into her seat, when Ron slammed on the brakes again. The larger police cruiser, having built up its reverse speed during the course of the odd chase, couldn't match the smaller car's quick deceleration. Kim had a moment's view of the police car rolling into the street behind them before an oncoming taxi plowed into it. Ron hadn't been idle; he shifted back into first and made his way back down the alley in their original direction. Once at the opposite end, he spotted a break in the traffic and smoothly merged into the flow, even as Marie ran out of air and halted her impromptu, vocal performance. Looking back, Kim had a momentary glance of one of the policemen sprinting into the alley, before the subcompact's travel placed buildings in her line of sight.

She couldn't believe it.

In less then 60 seconds, Ron had successfully disabled two police cars and merged with traffic that would take them away from the accidents. With even a minimum of luck, they would be far away before the authorities could arrange for pursuit. What was more unbelievable was that he didn't make use of overwhelming violence, horsepower or firepower; just skill, daring and street-cunning. Hell, even the steadfast red subcompact emerged from the challenge without any additional scratches.

The same clumsy but adorable boy she had grown up with, who couldn't tie his own shoelaces without tripping over himself, who took his driving exam six times and totaled five testing vehicles, had done something she doubted that most veteran NASCAR drivers could accomplish on their best days. No wonder Treadstone judged him a threat!

Kim was certain that even after all of the tight situations she had been in, if she were to check his pulse right now she would find his heart beating at least 54 times per minute. Ron did not even sport a single bead of perspiration upon his brow and his breathing was soft and regular. No element of his physical presentation offered her a single distinction that he was in the least bit phased at what had just happened; he was perfect composure.

Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the life and death situation or maybe it was the salty aroma from her own sweat, but she had never felt so…sexually charged and ravenous as she did right now. Never, not even under the influence of the infamous moodulator, had she ever wanted to pounce on somebody as badly as she wanted to seize Ron at this moment. She didn't care that she was in a public setting. Marie could watch; all of Paris could watch, she didn't care! Right now all she wanted to do, despite her bruising and fatigue, was to rip Ron's clothes off and give him something to remember for all time.

"Are you alright?"

"W…what?" Kim barely realized that Ron had just asked after her well being.

"You were looking at me oddly. I know that my driving was a bit rough and with your ribs and knee…so, are you okay?"

A deep blush filled Kim's cheeks as she tried to sound casual, trying to douse her arousal with a mental, ice-cold bucket of water, or maybe a picture of Duff Killigan in a thong.

"Yeah, no harm, no foul. Totally spankin'."

Ron nodded at her response and turned slightly, to look at the rear seat occupant. "Marie? What about you? Are you alright?"

For a moment, there was no reply and when the words eventually exited the back seat, they were ragged. "I … I … can't stop shaking," she stammered. "I'm trying but I can't stop shaking."

Kim turned to face her fellow passenger, a spasm of discomfort shooting through her chest as she twisted her body against the still-fastened seatbelt. She saw a young woman with trembling hands and quivering legs. Kim knew immediately, what was wrong, she looked at Ron, catching the concern on his face

"Jason, you keep driving." She told him. "This is no big, I can handle it. You keep your eyes on the road and find us someplace to ditch this ride, okay?"

Ron didn't reply verbally, simply offered a curt nod and complied with her request. Reassured, Kim once again turned back towards Marie and spoke to her as if she were he older sister, offering advice.

"You'll be alright," she told the younger woman. "A layman's term for what you're going through is adrenaline poisoning. Your body is all primed up to either fight or flee; yet you're stuck being inactive. It's perfectly normal, for a ferociously unnormal situation. You've been stressed out ever since this morning, at Jason's Apartment, and the car chase pushed you a little further. Right now, your body is all primed for action and you're doing nothing, so the quivering is how it's burning off some of that energy. Just take deep, soothing breaths and you'll be fine in a couple of minutes, I promise

"B-b-but y-y-you're not having a shaking fit, and neither is Jason. W-why am I?"

Kim unbuckled her seatbelt, allowing her to turn herself a little more in Marie's direction. Her body language would be reassuring, telling the girl that she was fully invested in her problem. "Remember what Jason said earlier? Everybody deals with stress differently and he and I are just more used to this kinda stuff than you are. It's kind of like parachuting with someone who's never jumped before and a two-hundred-jump veteran. The stresses are the same but the veteran's reactions are more subdued. Understand?"

Marie nodded and tried to imitate Kim's deep breaths. The two were so caught up in the calming exercise that they didn't notice Jason turn off of the road and into an underground parking garage. It wasn't until the blonde man stopped the car and turned off the engine that they noticed their gray, concrete surroundings.

"Tiffany's right," Ron said, breaking the silence with a soft voice. His expression showed his regret. "I'm sorry, but the police must have tracked the vehicle's plates. They're looking for the car, as well as for us. We have to lose the Mini, Marie. It's a nice vehicle, but it's no good for us now. As the saying goes, _if it's not an asset, it's a liability_…" Ron's face became distant, troubled with his last phrase. For a moment, Kim thought he might be caught up in another memory. Thankfully, he quickly blinked himself back to reality and continued.

"Anyway, this garage should give us a little bit of time, so lets make use of it. Marie, I need you to empty the car. Take out all of the food wrappers, empty cups, everything. Keep anything you'll need and throw the rest in the trash." He motioned towards a dumpster nearby. Next, he produced a bag or moist toilettes, "Tiffany, I need you to rub down everything that can hold a fingerprint; interior and exterior. We can't do anything about the DNA we left here, but that will take them time to process, anyway. With any luck, we'll be out of France by the time the authorities realize it was us who abandoned this car. Any questions?"

"Yeah," Marie spoke up, clearly tweaked at the idea of losing her pride and joy. "While we're getting ready to ditch MY car, what will you be doing?"

"I think I'll look around and find another red subcompact," Ron answered, pulling a Swiss Army Knife out of his pocket and unfolding the screwdriver. "I'll switch the cars' plates. With any luck, the driver will get well away from here, before the authorities stop him. If so, our pursuers might spend precious hours looking in the wrong place before they realize that we went on foot."

Unable to fight his logic, and upset because of it, Marie begrudgingly nodded and started sorting through the accumulated clutter, separating the _'gotta keep this'_ items from the _'it's not worth carrying'_ things.

Nobody spoke for the next half-hour; they just went about their assigned tasks. Occasionally, Kim would look around to see what Ron was doing. Each time she did so, he would notice her staring at him and she was too slow to avoid the eye contact. Each time this happened, she blushed furiously and returned her attention to the unseen fingerprints on and in the car. After thirty minutes, Ron returned to his companions, announcing that it was time to leave the car and make tracks

The two women silently followed him. Although they both had a load of questions to ask, they knew that this was neither the time nor place to ask them. All they knew was that they had trusted him this far, that they had already committed themselves to seeing this through, and that they might as well trust him a little further.

They walked to the nearest bus stop and boarded the first bus. They got off at the third stop after boarding and walked to the nearest underground station. They boarded the second train to arrive and got off at the fifth stop after boarding. From there, they walked five blocks to another underground station, serving another line, and boarded a random train. Their path, as far as Kim could determine, was entirely random, but she understood his logic. If THEY didn't know where they were going, no pursuers could tell where they were going either. She hobbled, in agony, beside and behind Ron for hours, doing her best to conceal her limp and the pain that screamed through her with each step. Her only respite occurred when they took the random trips on the various forms of crowded, public transportation. Still, she held her silence in the face of the dull, stabbing pain, trying to impress her companions with her determination. As the day drew on, she found herself lagging, trying to follow close behind them. With only her own thoughts to keep her company, she found herself reviewing her past, unable to keep herself from painting her deeds with the words that Ron's shadowy controller had forced upon her.

She had, unknowingly, wallowed in her own notoriety for a decade. People had all but begged her to allow them to pay her back for what they saw as her heroic deeds. She could get into any sold-out concert, any fully booked flight, or any exclusive hotel. She had heard the saying that fame opened doors and she now realized that she was living proof. While she didn't think she was a narcissist, she liked being treated like she was special. While she didn't think she was arrogant, she usually thought that she was right. Suddenly, another saying came to her mind; _'I'm not an alcoholic, I just drink like one.' _How could she have failed to see how she had become so caught up in her own celebrity?

Finally, the afternoon wore into evening, the sky began to dim and the streetlights began to flicker into life. In the distance, Kim noticed the famed red windmill of the Moulin Rouge. She was instantly on edge, since that meant they were entering the Pigalle, Paris's red light district and one of the roughest places in the entire city. She opened her mouth to tell her companions, then silently closed in when she saw their expressions. They were perfectly aware of the area's well-earned reputation for scams and overbearing doormen, who promoted the erotic as exotic.

Kim had only been down this street once before, nearly three years ago, when she had visited the famous cabaret with her lover. He was a pilot and also saw himself as a bit of an adventurer, flying cargo to war-torn regions in the Middle East. The two of them had met at a Red Cross dinner and had immediately hit it off. He wasn't dashing, or even pleasing to the eye. The truth was that he looked more like a veteran prizefighter who's only real skill was absorbing punishment. Still, he had intoxicating, 'live life for the moment' attitude that she found appealing at the time. He had seemed perfect for her and their relationship lasted longer than any of her other post-Ron romances, probably due to their infrequent opportunity to spend more than a few hours at a time with each other. He was always _'up, up and away'_ for the UN and she spent most of her time in the U.S., so she only managed to see him two days out of ten, at the most. Still, she never felt pressured around him and because of their international connections around Europe, they were able to indulge in a cosmopolitan romance. Whenever he was off duty, he was all about impressing her and she needed that, at the time. One fateful day, after the two of them had seen the Kidman and Macgregor flick, 'Moulin Rouge,' she told him that she had never seen the real one, despite being reasonably familiar with Paris. The next day, they caught a train to Paris and took in a show. Since they were feeling a little frisky when they left, they decided to take a short walk before hailing a cab.

Big mistake, or perhaps a lucky move. In that short walk, they found themselves surrounded by sleaze, instead of sensuality. Instead of lively, raw emotion, they experienced desperation and addiction. By the time they reached the end of the street, three strangers sported broken fingers, after inquiring about her 'rates' and prodding the merchandise. The following week, _'Tooth'_ broke it off with her, citing his flight schedules becoming too erratic. Deep down, she knew that just like so many others, she had scared him off with her ability to stand up for herself. It had become the story of her life, men were afraid to be with a woman who could kick their asses five different ways before they hit the ground. With _'Tooth'_, she had convinced herself that she had found 'the one', only to realize that their intermittent contact had kept her from seeing his negative aspects. Still, she remained fond of the pilot but only one guy had never been intimidated by her mad Kung Fu Skills and right at that present moment he was acting like he didn't know her

Now, here she was again, surrounded by the same, pink, neon signs guaranteeing lap dances, and barkers promising the sexiest women in Paris, willing to degrade themselves for a few Euros. But unlike her previous visit, the street's patrons were giving her a wide, fearful berth. Somehow, she knew that they weren't backing off because of her, and certainly not because of Marie. Rather, it was the man that was escorting them.

Shego had once bragged to her that nobody ever hassled her because _'trouble knows trouble'_. Although Ron didn't look very intimidating, having an almost 'boy-next-door' quality, she didn't doubt that the various Cro-Mags around them realized that he could out-trouble them all on their best day. The various hucksters and johns were avoiding the trio out of fear of him, not respect for the ladies he was with.

Maddeningly, Kim felt that annoying arousal start to manifest itself again. Somehow, being near the 'wolf among the dogs' was having a profound effect on her. The guys she had dated and even slept with, when she thought that Ron was gone forever, had never stirred this quiet, yet passionate, response.

"Um, Jason, not trying to be a problem or anything," Marie's statement stirred Kim, thankfully, out of her musings. "But you have no idea how much I really, REALLY wanna be somewhere else, right about now."

Kim couldn't fault the girl for her anxiety. In fact, if the two of them had met under better circumstances, she probably would have been more than a little impressed with how well the vagabond was dealing with everything. In the past half-day, Marie had participated in a fight for her life, evaded the police and had discovered that she was on Interpol's most wanted list. Furthermore, she had chosen to stick with 'Jason' out of nothing more (Kim hoped) than honest friendship and compassion. Kim had to admit that it took a lot of guts for the girl to put her faith in two strangers, depending upon them to get her out of the mess.

Kim had yet to observe the young woman complain or freak out, beyond reason. Yes, if they had met in Middleton, without Ron stuck in between them, they would have probably become friends. As it was, Marie was clutching Ron's arm and pressing their bodies close together, shielding herself from the sleaze merchants, and clients, leering at her. Oh yeah, if the vagabond wasn't being so touchy-feely with _**her boyfriend**_, then Kim would have been able to get along famously with her.

Ron stopped in his tracks and disengaged his arms from Marie's desperate hold. Kim could tell that the man calling himself Jason Bourne was more than a little embarrassed by his circumstances. Drawing both women closer to him he opened another dialog in his 'listen and obey me' voice. He maintained eye contact with Marie and his tone was soft and apologetic, but there was no doubt that what he said wasn't open for discussion. For the first time since meeting the young woman, Kim had no animosity for the attention Ron was affording her; she realized that the man was trying to calm the more anxious of his two companions

"This is the best place for us, Marie. We need to come up with a plan and that's going to take privacy."

"Jason, look around," she protested. "This street isn't the most private place to be. There must be at least a hundred people here."

As much as Kim wanted to support Ron, she had to agree with Marie. She could already feel dozens of eyes, stripping away her clothes and her dignity.

"True," Ron conceded, with a small grin. "But not one of them is looking at our faces. We need to grab a room to rest up and we can't call attention to ourselves when we do so. The places around here aren't exactly picky about who they let in. If you were to check their registries, you'll find nothing but '_Smiths', 'Joneses'_, and the European equivalents. Nobody will ask for a passport or any other identification. This is all see no evil, hear no evil, and speak no evil. I'm willing to bet that the cops get some extra pocket money to look the other way, as well. As for three of us renting a room, we could probably show up with handcuffs, whips, a midget, jumper-cables, a jar of peanut butter and a small herd of sheep, and nobody would even bat an eyelash. What we need at the moment is a haven and, as ironic as it sounds, this district is just the place we need."

Again, as much as she wished to support Marie, Kim had to bow to Ron's logic. Coming here had been a smart move and Ron, even though he couldn't remember it, had the experience to make these decisions. This was his world, and she didn't mean the world of perverts and peanut butter covered midgets; she meant the world of cloak and dagger and finding the best place to find shelter from the oncoming storm. She realized that she trusted his instincts more then her own to help keep them out of Treadstone's reach.

"Look," she informed her companions. "I don't care where it is we go, I just want someplace where I can lay down and have a warm relaxing shower or bath. I haven't washed in two days and I'm starting to feel a bit icky."

Ron nodded his agreement and Kim felt embarrassed that he so readily agreed with her statement. As Ron stepped away to approach a doorman, Kim took advantage of the lull and sniffed at her clothing, trying to detect any offensive body odour.

"Relax," Marie smirked at her. "You haven't showered in two days? Newsflash, I haven't showered in four. Compared to me and Jason, you're flowery fresh."

The redhead released an honest chuckle at the statement, remembering that Marie's long awaited shower, this morning, had been interrupted when Choirboy 'dropped by'.

Marie took advantage of Kim's momentary silence to attempt to start a conversation. "Y'know," she began, but then her words seemed to catch in her mouth, she was so unsure about the topic she wanted to address.

Kim's eyebrow quirked up, as she recognized her companion's sudden combination of boldness and uncertainty. "What?" She asked gently, trying to get the younger woman to open up.

"I'm sorry," Marie replied, finding her voice again. "I was just thinking about how lucky you are." Here, the vagabond's eyes trailed to Ron, who was locked in conversation a few feet away.

"I know that it's really not my place to say anything," she continued, returning her attention to Kim. "But even without his knapsack full of Euros and his _'I can't believe he isn't a twink'_ good looks, Jason is a hell of a guy. In fact, I think he's the ultimate guy, if you know what I mean. He's a sweet, honest man who's really regretting what he's putting us through, even though we've both jumped in on our own. So please, if I can ask anything of you, I'm asking you this - Don't screw it up!"

"What do you mean?" Kim couldn't keep the hint of a challenge out of her voice.

"I **mean** that the two of you obviously have a lot of history with each other and _**you**_ can recall it all. You know things about him that he doesn't. This gives you a whole lot of leverage over him and I'm asking you, in the nicest way possible, not to take advantage of it, or him. Please, respect him and just be aware of what he's going through, okay?"

"I would never…" Kim started to protest, only to be cut off by the suddenly forceful girl.

"Stop it!" Marie insisted, before regaining control of herself. "Okay, just stop for a moment and take my advice. You probably already know this, or sensed it yourself, but Jason has been on edge from the moment he laid eyes on you. I don't know why, he doesn't know why, he just is and you might know the reason for that. While he can't remember events, he sure as hell remembers that you caused him a world of pain. Recent pain, past pain, it doesn't really matter. In my book, new or old, pain is pain, so please don't treat him like an idiot just because he doesn't know the reasons behind why he feels the way he feels. And don't try to pull one over on either him or me, believing that you had somehow dodged a bullet with his amnesia."

"Look," Kim sighed. "My personal history is none of…"

"My concern?" Marie finished. "I'd say that your personal history, at least the part you shared with him, IS my concern. If it all blows up, I'm going to be a passenger on your train ride to Hell, aren't I? Look, I said my piece; he's a great guy, stop. You hit the Jackpot as far as I'm concerned and a hundred thousand women would do just about anything to be in your place, myself included. So, for all of us who are presently living vicariously through your good fortune, all I'm asking you to do is to own up if you've ever done wrong by him. Please, sooner rather than later, and DON'T brush it off and hope he never figures it out. Because he's probably half-way to figuring it out already."

Kim caught her breath as she dug out the meaning behind Marie's words. "He…he remembered more in his _'flickers'_ than teenaged hotties and being called names, didn't he?" She asked. She was worried, fearful of how Ron's damaged memory could have mixed different times in his history.

"Not exactly," Marie told her. "I can tell you this; Jason doesn't lie. He doesn't remember enough TOO lie, he tells you what's on his mind, no falsehoods. What he has is this…impression…this feeling that things between the two of you weren't as rosy as you've suggested. Look, I don't really want to get in the middle of this but, here I am, aren't I? He just knows that there are some bad things in your past, and I'm not talking about _'left the toilet seat up one too many times'_ sort of bad." She paused a moment, looking a Kim, "And judging by the look on your face right now, I'd say he's right."

"Okay, that's fair enough, but why are you giving me the head's up on this?"

"God, aren't you even going to try to deny it?"

"No," Kim said, with a slow, sad shake of her head. "Marie, some people have skeletons in their closet; Jason and I have entire cemeteries. You're right, I'm holding some things back, even though he knows it and it makes him doubt me. I know that, at the moment, he trusts you more than me and it hurts. I don't think you have any idea how much that hurts. He looks at you with genuine worry and concern, as for me? For me it's scepticism and doubt; do you know how that feels? How that rips me up inside? The problem is that, until I have things more squared away in my own head, I can't risk anything that will muddle him up even worse then he already is. I'm keeping things from him, I admit it, but I'm doing it for him, not for me."

"Alright, I guess I can accept that, even if I don't understand it. Now, we're on the run from something a lot worse than an unpaid speeding ticket, aren't we? I'm not stupid enough to think that Jason used to be some kind of regular Joe, nine to five type. Not with those moves of his. I'm not even going to ask you what he was before he lost his memory, and truthfully said, I'm kinda scared what your answer would be if I did."

"Trust me, that's a good call. I wish I didn't know either."

Marie ignored Kim's comment and instead met her eyes with her own. "No, the only thing that I'm going to ask you is this; do you really love him?"

Kim squared her shoulders towards the auburn-haired transient, irked by the question. Yet, even as she prepared to berate the girl for asking such a question, she literally felt the starch flow back into her spine, as the obvious answer occurred to her.

"I can honestly say that from the second I met him, at the age of five; from the moment a blonde-haired tyke came to my defence in the playground and took a bashing for it, he's been important to me. During the many, many years that followed, that importance turned into love. First, it was brother/sister love, then it became best-friends forever love. Finally, it became something so much more wonderful, it became the love that all of us, when we were little girls, fantasized about having when we were older. This love wasn't fleeting. It wasn't at 'first sight'. It wasn't swayed into creation with corny songs accompanied by roses and chocolate, or romantic poetry. This love of ours weathered pain and disappointment, success and failure. This Love has changed as it has matured, but it has always been there, Marie. So, to answer your question, yes, I love him. I love him with all my heart."

"Alright then," Marie responded, with a decisive nod. "I wanted this clear between the two of us. Because, if you couldn't say that you loved him, or if you gave me any indication that you had it in you to hurt him later, well, I wanted you to know where my thoughts are. And they are this - I won't have any problems stepping over, around or through you and do anything I need to do to help him get over you. I've been the _other woman_ before and I have no intention of being her again, but you can't be the _other woman_ when the first woman doesn't love him in the first place. I want you to know, right now, that if you ever intentionally make him suffer, I'll do _**whatever**_ it takes to ease that pain, are we clear on this? Good."

Kim wasn't sure if what she had just heard was a warning, a promise, a threat, or some combination of the three. Regardless, she appreciated the blunted honesty. Now, like with Treadstone, she knew where Marie stood and, like with Treadstone, she felt a great deal of relief, knowing where everyone stood.

Kim offered a rather neutral smile, not giving this potential rival any words that she could interpret as a challenge. For the next few moments, silence reigned between the two women, as they formed an unspoken truce, accepting each other's feelings for the same man.

Before the silence could become uncomfortable, Ron rejoined the women. His small smile told them, before he spoke, that he had acquired what he was searching for.

"Apparently, the only decent place nearby is about one hundred yards from here," he informed them. "It's nothing to write home to mother about but in this neighbourhood, it probably rates five stars. If we get there now, we almost guarantee snagging the Honeymoon Suite before the mid-evening rush shows up. It might not be exactly set up for…sleeping…but we'll have a private shower and a king-sized bed."

Kim felt a certain rush of nervousness as she digested his words. "You mean a king-sized bed and a single bed, don't you?" She asked. "Or at least a king sized bed and a couch?"

"No, I mean **a** king-sized bed," Ron replied, shaking his head. "As in _**one**_ bed, that happens to be large and sturdy enough for a spontaneous threesome, which is what all of the nice people managing the establishment will assume that we're renting the room for, anyway."

Kim looked at Marie and Marie looked at Kim. Both wore expressions of intermingled shock, embarrassment, humour and just a little contemplation. Considering the discussion they had just concluded this situation was even more awkward that Ron could appreciate. Finally, Marie broke the silence.

"This isn't a problem," she told the now worried-looking male. "It just came as a bit of a surprise. I should have guessed that these rooms don't come with multiple beds. Anyway, I don't mind sharing a bed with you and your girl, just promise to keep away from my goodie area; a girl has to have a _**little**_ privacy, even in the most intimate settings, don't you think?"

"I can assure both of you that I will be the perfect gentleman," Ron informed them, after releasing the breath he probably didn't know he had been holding. He offered them both a faux bow and continued, "The moment either of you want me out of the room, for whatever reason, I'll take a walk to the lobby. Of course, should I leave the two of you in such a room, you can imagine what the assumptions will be." Ron smirked at their widened eyes and concluded, "And if by chance my delicate digits roam to forbidden destinations, you have my permission to break them; sound fair?"

"As fair as I think I'm going to get out of this deal," Maire smirked right back at him. "As long as Tiff's cool with it."

Kim, however, was standing transfixed. 'Jason's' faux-gallant bow matched the same bow Ron had given the entire cheer squad, after saving them from Gill. After a moment, she realized that her companions had provided a little innuendo, joking that something could happen between her and Ron, or Ron and Marie, or Ron, Marie and her, or…

"Uhmmm, sure," she stammered. "That rocks for me, as well."

"Alright then, shall we be off?"

Ron stepped between his companions and draped an arm over each of their shoulders. For Kimberly Anne Possible, this simple, familiar gesture was like being zapped with a thousand volts of electricity. Even though she knew that Ron was selling a false image of an impending, sexual encounter to the _Pigelle_'s inhabitants, she couldn't resist the excitement that stirred inside as she wrapped her arm around his waist, feeling Marie do the same, on their way to their destination.

_**/////**_

_**\\\\\**_

Kim really didn't know what she was expecting as Ron turned the key and opened the door. She was vaguely anticipating shanty furnishings, stained carpets and a gorchy, lumpy mattress. Instead, the room looked like the set for an upscale, 1970's porno shoot. The room had a mirrored ceiling, lava lamps and a large, circular waterbed. She would have laughed out loud if she weren't so…terrified.

The soft mood lighting and the room's obvious purpose aside, she was about to spend a night in a bed, next to Ron, something she had been longing to do for years. While she had a very adult control over her passions, the combination of arousal and longing made a very powerful force. She took a few moments to clamp an iron grip on her feelings. Once finished, she noticed how serious Ron was being, even in this kinky environment.

The first thing he did, upon closing the door, was study the fire evacuation map. Then, he checked the sturdiness of the door locks before proceeding to the only window in the pink room. After scanning outside, he inspected the bathroom and began tapping the plaster walls, checking their density. As he completed his tapping, Kim realized that he was interested in the walls' density for a different reason than she was. Marie, on the other hand, had a thought process different from both of her companions.

The young vagabond was giggling like a schoolgirl, laughing at her reflection in the ceiling mirror and enjoying the waterbed's rhythmic motion, as she began to roll around upon it. She ignored both her surrounding's overt sexuality and her situation's overt danger, taking the opportunity to wallow in simple amusement

It was truly the first time Kim had a chance to observe the pair's dynamic without the distraction of other issues, like fleeing for their lives or dealing with the drama surrounding Ron's situation. As she studied them, her eyes began to fill with tears when she realized what she was seeing. She was looking at _'Team Possible'_. Ron had become Kim Possible, the serious one who needed to be in control. Marie was Ron Stoppable, supportive, sensitive and able to embrace a childlike wonder in the most serious of settings. Much like how she and Ron used to interact, Marie and _'Jason'_ were now complementing each other, leaving Kim on the outside, looking in.

Overwhelmed by a sudden burst of emotion, Kim knew that she couldn't deal with this in front of the other two. Unfastening her leather jacket and hanging in on the hook behind the door, she locked her head onto her travel azimuth and, not looking to either side, walked across the room and to the bathroom. Once in the doorway, she called back over her shoulder, in as chipper a voice as she could manage, "well, I called dibs on the shower, so unless either of you want to fight me for it, don't bother me for the next half-hour or so. Of course, if our luck holds and another nut job come in through the window, feel free to interrupt."

The redhead didn't wait for an answer; she simply closed the door behind her and fastened the cheap lock. With the soft click assuring her a bit of privacy, she looked in the mirror. For the first time in a day and a half, for the first time since leaving home in response to a cryptic summons to visit Global Justice, she had a chance to look at herself. Her reflection had aged ten years since the last time she had seen it. She was also tired, hungry and in pain. As the seconds ticked by, her vision became more obscured by her unshed tears. She was moments away from breaking out in sobs.

She reached, blindly, into the shower and turned on the water. The falling water and the exhaust fan, which she now turned on, drowned out the sounds of her companions talking in the outer room. Satisfied that they couldn't hear her cry, in case her control slipped, she began to undress, carefully easing the clothing past her new injuries. She stepped under the detachable showerhead and let the warm water run over her naked flesh. Here, with noise to cover her sobs and falling water to disguise her tears, she finally released her emotions and leaned against the wall letting the water wash away her fears and uncertainties.

_**/////**_

_**\\\\\**_

When she heard the lock on the bathroom door click, Marie rolled onto her back and stared up at herself, once again. With the bed's waves settling, she spared a glance to her companion and found him, not surprisingly, staring at the now locked bathroom door. She couldn't read his expression but that wasn't surprising, she couldn't read most of his expressions. She found this consistency comforting in a strange, android sort of way.

From previous experience, she knew that a silence would eventually give way to superficial conversations that didn't really accomplish anything. Also, she didn't have the energy to face another game of twenty questions with him, especially after Tiffany's cryptic warning about cemeteries in his closet. Deciding to get up, she rolled towards the edge of the bed, fighting the waves. After a few moments, she started to work with the bed, rolling towards the nearest edge whenever the waves pushed her in that direction. She misjudged the last wave and the bed itself lobbed her off the edge. Sprawled on the floor, she giggled at herself, then broke out into helpless laughter at Jason's expression. Struggling to her feet, she started to explore this room that would be 'home' for the next twelve hours or so.

"Jason, have you seen the TV remote?" She asked, quickly loosing interest in the room's…one track…furnishings.

The question stirred her rescuer from whatever thoughts were swirling in his head. Marie couldn't prevent a coy smile, guessing that those thoughts must have something to do with his naked girlfriend.

"Uh, no," he said, shaking his head slightly. "Have you tried the bedside drawers?"

Marie had to look to find these drawers, as they were build into the bed frame and almost invisible. Opening the first one, Marie found her prize and held it up as a trophy.

"Here we are," she declared. "Right next to the Bible. Now that's a book that I doubt gets read much in a place like this."

"Don't be so sure," Jason replied, returning to his vantagepoint at the window. "There's some pretty dirty verses in that book. Don't ask me how I know, I just do."

Marie chose not to pursue this latest memory mystery and turned on the television. As she expected, the programming had a definite slant towards the erotic. Still, she persevered, clicking through the channels and keeping up a running dialogue.

"Porn, porn, more porn," she muttered. "Still more porn, an infomercial, porn disguised as a cooking show…ewww. I'm never going to be able to look at Hollandaise the same way eve again, and there's no way I would ever to THAT so close to hot, melted butter. And am I the only person who considers the hygiene factor involved with doing THAT on top of a cutting board? Jerry Lewis…more porn…Ahh, finally, some news. It's in French, what are the odds of that?"

Marie quickly lost interest in the news broadcast. It wasn't that she was uninterested in the world but rather that she was only partially fluent in the language. She could carry on a conversation in French, but anybody speaking it had to speak very slowly, for her benefit. Thus, she was only able to pick up about one word in three. She was just about to change the channel and search for an English language station when the broadcast switched to some sort of breaking news.

While the words, delivered in an extra-fast pace by a highly excited reporter, flew by her, the picture of her and Jason stunned her into momentary silence. While she watched, the scene changed to the outside of the apartment complex, showing policeman hosing away a red stain on the sidewalk. Next, the television showed a picture of Tiffany, while the reporter continued his rapid-fire testimony.

"Jason," she gasped, finally finding some semblance of her voice. "W-we're on television!"

She felt his feet cross the room as the mystery man rushed up behind her, just in time to see the footage change again. Now, the television showed a picture of Tiffany wearing a bikini and sharing a close embrace with a man. Marie recognized the man. In fact, there was no way that she would ever forget that sickening smile that he wore earlier, struggling with Jason. She continued to watch, uncomprehending, until the newscast broke for a commercial. Looking towards Jason, Marie noticed that his face was flushed and his hands were clenched into quivering fists.

"Jason?" She asked, dreading the answer.

"She's been lying to us."

"What? Jason? I only got a few words of that, but I can't speak French that well. What did they say?"

Jason ignored her question and stalked towards the jacket Tiffany had left hanging on the hook. With rough motions, he plunged his hands into the pockets, searching through the garment. Finding nothing, he walked back towards Marie and spread the jacket out on the bed exposing the inner pocket's zipper. Opening the pocket, he pulled out two passports. While he didn't hand her the passports, Marie saw shock, disbelief, anger then…nothing…parade across his face. Pocketing the passports, he removed everything else from the inner-compartment. First came an envelope, which proved to be full of a mixture of Euros and US dollars. Next came a shiny, new key then a piece of paper with an address and a telephone number printed on the bottom.

Marie knelt to get a closer look at the piece of paper, somehow fearful that Jason would explode if she touched anything. She recognized the address, it was the one to Jason's apartment. Why would his girlfriend need his address? Before she could voice the question, Jason spoke, in a tone completely devoid of emotion.

"According to that News Report, she's some kind of used-to-be teen adventurer and her name ISN'T Tiffany," he hissed. "It's Kim Possible. That guy who tried to kill me, he was her…what did they say? Oh yeah, a '_close, intimate friend_.' According to the newscaster, we kidnapped her and killed him when he tried to interfere."

"But we didn't!" Marie protested, before realizing that she was preaching to the choir.

Marie was a little off put by Jason's focus; he wasn't listening to her, he was too busy heaping scorn onto himself.

"I _**knew**_ I shouldn't have trusted her," he snarled, not looking at his companion. "But I wanted too. Moron! Trust your instinct's and always go with your gut! She's been playing me…playing _**us**_…from the start. Adventurer? Ha! She was probably at my place for the same reason her boyfriend was hiding on the roof, to capture me … us, and take us in. They probably would have earned a nice little reward for their trouble. If things had gone well then they'd probably be toasting each other right about now, in a room a lot like this one. You know; we probably walked in at the wrong time; she was probably scanning the place, looking for clues as to where I might be and wham, like a fat lazy turkey the day before Thanksgiving we come wandering into Ma and Pa Kettle's Slaughter House. She hears us at the door and probably didn't have a chance to warn her partner or hide convincingly so instead she played the old '_Sleeping Beauty'_ routine and I, like a first-rate boob, fell for it! I can't believe I took everything with her on face value, when every part of me was yelling to not trust her, but did I listen? Nooooooo. Fuck, I was even stupid enough to discuss my amnesia loud enough for her to overhear us. It provided her with the perfect opportunity and she just played along, improvising her role as she went. _'Girlfriend'_ that's a laugh! Then when _'what's his face'_ came flying in through the window and interrupted her little impromptu performance, what did she do? She goes running to him. Even then my alarm bells were ringing, I mean, what kind of ditz goes running _**towards**_ a gun-toting psycho?!? Sure, I thought that was a little odd at the time, but I wasn't really thinking clearly. Why would she do that unless she knew him? I'm such a fucken idiot!"

Marie was caught between what she knew and what he was saying. She knew the name, Kim Possible; she had even been a member of the Kim Possible Fan Club, Boston Chapter, when she was younger. Hell, she had wanted to grow up and have the same exciting life. How could she have failed to recognize her childhood hero, after spending most of the day within two feet of her? Kim Possible was as good as good could be, she had saved the world something like a gazillion times. If Kim Possible was after Jason, Jason had to be evil, didn't he? She couldn't bring herself to believe that Jason was evil, but if Kim was after him, could he be anything else?

"I think you should take a walk to the lobby," Jason told her, interrupting her thoughts, his uncharacteristic and momentary loss of composure now fully returned to him.

"I don't think you want to go back out on the street, but that's really your call. I think that there was a small café in the lobby, there was definitely a vending machine. The doorman will keep the rowdies from hassling a paying guest. Maybe you could get yourself something to eat and drink. Take as long as you like."

"W… why?"

"Because I think it's time I got some answers," he replied, his face emotionless once again. He gave the bathroom door a long look, took a deep breath and continued, "And I'm not going to have the luxury of being polite when I ask my questions. No more distractions or childhood anecdotes, I'm not going to settle for half-truths and silence anymore. I really don't think you want to be here for this, Marie. And to be honest, I would prefer it if you weren't."

Jason Bourne unlocked the room's door, opened it a crack and inspected the empty corridor. Slowly, he turned towards Marie, leaving the door slightly ajar as an unspoken invitation for her to leave now and spare herself from what was about to take place. With a shaking hand, Marie picked the envelope full of Euros up off of the bed and walked slowly towards the door

When she reached the door she paused, standing side by side with Jason. She looked back towards the bathroom door, which didn't quite completely block the sound of the running shower. Feeling both guilty and cowardly, the vagabond looked back towards the emotionless man next to her. She wanted to say something, something that would extinguish the fire burning behind his brown eyes, but no words came to mind

Jason couldn't maintain eye contact with Marie; he knew the significance behind her picking up Tiff…Kim Possible's…cash. Marie wasn't coming back and she suspected that after tonight Kim would never be in need of money again. The fact that Marie thought so little of him actually stung for a bit, but he pushed down the shame, deciding that this was probably the best for her. If she left now, whoever was hunting him would probably lose interest in her and besides, he was on Interpol's most wanted list and all of Paris thought he was a killer. She was a civilian caught up in it all and someone who had the misfortune to have been tarred with the same brush just by the simple association of him. The more distance she put between herself and him, the better her life would be.

Jason stepped back from the door, back from Marie, and pushed the door slightly wider, herding the young woman out with his eyes. Her expression tore at his soul. He knew that a part of her wanted to lunge at him and prevent him from going through with his plan, but her rational side knew that it would be a vain attempt. He looked at her again and their eyes locked. She wanted him to say something, to settle her thoughts from the images of what might transpire in the coming moments. Her lips parted, her brow crinkled in worry, her eyes carrying the weight of pure sorrow. He felt himself begin to doubt his resolve, his certainty that he had to do what he knew he had to do diminishing with every laboured second she spent looking at him. Judging him.

Just as he was prepared to speak, to say that he wasn't going to do it and that he needed her to help him find another way, a quote arose from the darkest recess of his mind. He didn't recall where it came from, whether it was something he had read, or footage he had seen once a lifetime ago. It certainly fitted with everything that was surrounding him. With a whisper he gave voice to these alien words. "_I know that I'm the bad guy, but in my world_,_" _He quoted softly._ "The bad guy wins."_

"W…what? What does that even mean?"

"Just something Sunny Liston said, y'know, the former Heavyweight Boxing Champion of the USA. You could take away what you want from it, but I understand it as his declaration of not caring what people think of you as long as you get the job done. Why should I waste my time and energy trying to fight what people already parade me around as? Hero, Villain, a simple guy caught in the Eye of the Hurricane. It doesn't really matter; it's the end results that matter. If I've been labelled as a bad guy, which it seems I am, then that just makes things a lot easier for me, doesn't it? No conscience to hold me back form doing things that I have to do."

"That has got to be the **stupidest** justification for doing something you shouldn't, I've ever heard in my life. And I am the Master of stupid-justifications."

"Yeah? Well … maybe. All I know is that when I slide into _'autopilot'_ everything I do becomes clearer, simpler. There's no hesitation and no remorse for what I do on my part. The ease and simplicity of it is almost welcoming. There is only the _objective_ and what I must do in order to _achieve_ that objective. So why do I fight that?" He told his confused and anxious companion. "Why shouldn't I just give in to my inner-bastard and turn to the Dark-side? I think my life would be a whole lot easier if I did."

"I'll tell you why, Jason," she protested. "Because that's not who you are, that's why."

"Say's who? You? The truth is we don't know what I was like before I got fished out of the Mediterranean. I might very well have been *exactly* like that." He calmly pointed out. "Marie, can't you see? If I wasn't already like that then it wouldn't be so easy for me to become …_him _at a flick of a mental light switch."

But despite the certainty of his words within himself, the male felt his voice tighten, constrict and pitch with emotion as this final statement left his mouth. "What kind of person, Marie, has millions of Euros in a Swiss Bank, winds up on Interpol's most wanted list and has enemies with enough clout to get him on the national level news? People don't try to catch or kill nice guys, Marie. No, what they do is they hunt those bastards down!"

"Look, the bottom line is this, Marie, at the very least I need to know the landscape that is surrounding me. It makes no sense to me, I can't plan or prepare for anything if I don't know the pros and cons, who are my allies? Who are my enemies. What are their resources? How the Hell can I strategise if I have no reliable Intel on what's going on, or what initiated all of this?"

"I have to know if I should stop running and start fighting. But I don't have a clue who I'm running from or why I'm fighting them. But Kim Possible does. She knows, Marie. She has the answers and she's had a chance, plenty of chances, to give them up. Well, since she won't give them of her own free-will, then I guess I'm going to have to take them. I don't know, maybe it's a good thing that we got here before we saw the news, huh? The real saving grace about this particular place is that nobody is going to investigate a few screams and '_do not disturb_' means just that." He paused a moment, and tried to offer the female a small smile at the joke he just made. But the humour was lost on her.

He needed to end this, and end it decisively. The longer he drew out this goodbye the hard it was for him to want to go his separate ways from her.

"Whatever you do, whether you decide to take yourself for a walk and … I don't know, get lost on the way back. Just know that I trust you, Marie. And at the moment, Marie, having someone I can trust is more valuable to me then my next breath of air and all the gold in the World. Whatever happens, whatever is reported that I did or … will do, just promise me that you'll remember me just as I am now and not as I was claimed to be by strangers."

With this, Jason slowly closed the door, leaving Marie, who hadn't quite realized that he had nudged her into the hall, all alone in the corridor. He locked the door, silently cursing himself for separating himself from the only person he trusted. Pushing back the self-recrimination with a discipline he didn't know he possessed, he contemplated the bathroom door. He needed answers, he needed to know why all this was happening to him, and he needed to know what he had done to earn it. Everything he was seeking was inside a steam-misted room just four meters away from him, locked in a redhead's memory. And the only thing stopping him from claiming his own identity was…was himself.

_**/////**_

_**\\\\\**_

_**A/N:**_** I hope you enjoyed this chapter. As you can tell, things are about to heat up in the next slice of 'The Ron Identity'. To answer advance questions, yes, Jason will finally learn who he really is. But how will he feel about it? If you were told you were a monkey-phobic sidekick once upon a time, but were now a kick-ass Master Assassin. Who would you rather wish yourself to being?**

**As always, kudos and applause goes to Daccu65 for being a Beta beyond compare.**

**Now, start reviewing people. Or Jason might pay you a 'friendly visit' after he's **_**spoken**_** to Kim ;-)…lol.**


	10. Chapter 10

He found so much of his life to be a mystery, even the simple but profound question: who am I? Yet, for all of the confusion surrounding him, he knew there was one element, one concept that he embraced with all of his being, loyalty. He didn't know why he took such pride, put such importance in this trait but he knew, somehow, that it was at the core of his very soul. The only problem with loyalty was that, once someone betrayed it, the betrayer found it next to impossible to earn again. He had accepted Tiff…Kim Possible's word on faith, and maybe a little schoolboy lust, that she belonged in his life. She had introduced herself as his lover and, despite the fact that some part of him screamed a warning; he had accepted her explanation and had given her his loyalty.

When she invited herself into his voyage of self-discovery, she had offered to be the guide and he didn't even think to question her motives. Ever since he saw her lying there, in a strange bed that he owned, he had dedicated his actions to her and Marie's well being. He didn't question it, he took it on faith that the survivor's code; _'You watch my back and I'll watch yours'_ would automatically apply. When she joined Marie and him, she had allied herself with them, or at least that was what he had thought at the time. Now, after the news broadcast, he saw her for what she really was; a wolf in the fold or a viper clutched close to his heart. The only thing he had ever asked of her was the truth, however painful it might be. However, she had rationed that truth to him, providing it only when prompted and only when he had already recalled most of it already. He had accepted her deflections and her denials, thinking that she must have some reason for doing so. After all, as long as she accompanied him, she had tied her fate to his. While he didn't enjoy the fact that she was withholding information, he felt that she must have been doing it for his benefit and, by extension, her own. Now, however, he knew her motivation, or he was at least close enough to take action.

Some strange voice, deep in his head had been whispering to him for nearly half of the day, telling him not to trust the redhead. Now, that same voice was laughing maniacally, gleefully, over what his failure to heed it had done to him. He could feel rage at being played for a fool, but his greatest rage wasn't over his bruised ego, it was over the possible consequences for Marie. Even though he didn't know why so much chaos and insanity had found him since he woke up on a less than legal fishing trawler, he knew enough to guess that whoever he had been before…whatever happened… that he had invited at least some of it. Marie, on the other hand was just an innocent bystander, a would-be Good Samaritan, caught up in his drama. If he was being set up or taken down by this famed, former teenage adventurer, he could accept this as a part of his unremembered life. But there was no way he was going to let innocent, loyal Marie share in that fate.

Unlike this _Kim Possible_, Marie had never looked him in the face and told him she was somebody else. She never withheld information; she spoke her mind and didn't sugar coat her words. She had honestly tried to lead him down routes to painful self-discoveries. In addition, she looked to him to make the calls, the hard and crucial decisions, because she trusted him. How could he live with himself if something happened to her, because _Kim Possible_ decided to take him down? The answer was that he wouldn't be able to, and that brought him back to the here and now. What he was going to do, what he _HAD_ to do, was not for him, it was for Marie. He had to know the why's, the what's, the how's and the when's. He had to know how much the other side knew and who the other side happened to be. There was only one way he could discover all of this, and that was to let that whisper, that elusive phantom of him…before…take over.

The only problem was, he had no idea how to do it. Jason Bourne, the _REAL_ Jason Bourne, only showed up during crises' that he, the pretender in his own skin, couldn't handle.

Jason Bourne must have been one cold-hearted bastard, he knew that much with certainty. And although he had given Marie the impression that it was some kind of voyeuristic thrill to watch another person operate his body now and then, the truth was that he found it both disorienting and terrifying. When the _real_ Jason showed up, he found himself sucked into another place with no emotions. There was no hate, no love, no joy, no sorrow, and no guilt. What could have made him this kind of a person? What happened to Jason Bourne that made him willingly turn his proverbial back on wanting to feel like a human being? Why didn't he want to feel a connection or a sense of attachment to another member of the human race?

Slowly, the blonde man closed his eyes and, for the first time, tried to '_slip into the back seat_.' Unsurprisingly, nothing happened. He was still Jason, or, more to the point, the current Jason. It would be much easier if he could just faze out and let the dark stalker take the wheel. But then again what part of his life had been 'easy' over the last several days?

He clenched his fists, resigning himself to actually doing, himself, what he had to do, what he needed to do. He stared at the door, the thin barrier that was separating him, the reluctant predator, from his quarry. The door also dampened the sound of running water, prompting a fantasy of naked flesh that almost blocked his resolve. Just as suddenly, the news report came back to his mind. Heaving a last sigh, he forced his feet to carry him towards the door.

***

How could she have done it? How could she have just left, knowing that…whoever Jason was…was about to do…whatever he was about to do…to Kim Possible? Somehow, this was even dirtier, even worse than actually taking part in what was probably happening right now.

The vagabond stumbled into the hotel lobby and discovered, to her pleasant surprise, that it boasted a small café, sheltered from the hormone-crazed riffraff outside. She found a table and sat down to think. First of all, there was no doubt in her mind that 'Tiffany' was, in fact, the famous redhead. Since Marie refused to believe that one of her cherished childhood heroes could be doing something as vile as set Jason up for a fall, whatever she was doing must be both right, and necessary.

Secondly, whoever Jason had been, before waking up on the fishing boat, had made some powerful enemies. Marie was no economist, as the state of her checking account could attest, but she realized that whomever had set his sights on Jason must be large and wealthy. Any organization that could afford that…sick assassin, influence the Metro Police to attempt to apprehend them and put the story on the evening news had to be a dangerous foe. Somehow, Jason had wound up on its bad side. Did that make Jason a hero or a villain?

Third point, Kim claimed a…somewhat intimate…past with Jason, even going back to their high school years. Marie should be able to puzzle out Jason's identity from this piece of information, since she had been a proud member of the Kim Possible Fan Club. The club had its own newsletter and some of the articles had become almost paparazzi-ish, claiming a romantic connection between Kim and any male with whom she spent more than a half-hour in close proximity. The newsletter made the same claim about a couple of females, as well.

The young woman wracked her brain, trying to come up with anyone with a teenaged, romantic connection to the heroine, but she only had some vague images of that guy who used to go on the missions with her. Marie didn't have any solid picture of his face, since the cameras never paid much attention to him. Could that be Jason? The answer was that it didn't matter; whoever Jason had been, he was about to, or maybe already was, torturing Kim Possible.

Finally, there was the news report that linked Kim to that assassin. While Marie didn't know the man, something she was very grateful for, she couldn't picture Kim Possible either associating romantically with an assassin, or helping someone else kill her lover. It didn't make sense to her, but if it was on television…

Wait a minute! Did it become reality just because it was on the news? She had just been contemplating the fan club's newsletter, which had Kim connected, romantically, with dozens of young men. Most of these were either blatant falsehoods or some teenaged writer's wishful thinking. In addition, most European tabloids, and their televised counterparts, made American tabloids look like children's books.

Marie put the pieces together in her mind. For a moment, she set aside Kim's alias and went with the available facts. One; Kim Possible came to France, searching for Jason. Two, Kim Possible claimed a romantic relationship with whoever Jason used to be. Three, Kim had risked her life to help Jason fight the assassin. What was the conclusion?

Marie had no idea, but she knew that torturing and murdering Kim Possible wouldn't accomplish anything for Jason. The real conclusion was that Marie had to do something, and now.

Unfortunately, she was in no way prepared to confront Jason. Now that he was ready to resort to violence, she had to be ready to match his violence, or force him to rethink his plan of action. Looking around the small shops, she realized that the…entertainment items…for sale wouldn't be much help. Then her eyes fell on one of the burly doormen, in reality a bouncer who was 'encouraging' the passers-by to leave the hotel's paying patrons alone.

A desperate plan came to her mind, one she tried to complete even as she hopped off of her chair and considered her reflection in a nearby window. There was no real help for her disheveled hair and clothing, but she decided that the 'scruffy but sexy' look would be more convincing. She palmed some of the money she had taken from the room and approached one of the bouncers.

"_Pardon me_," she said in her halting French. "_I have a certain…need…for a burly young man_." She flashed both the cash, and her most alluring smile. "_If you could…assist me, I will make your efforts most…rewarding._"

***

The water cascaded over her body, the tender droplets massaging her and offering a momentary reprieve from her stress. The thin curtain of water formed a moving veil between her and the world, shielding her against her current, harsh reality. Thus shielded, she sent her mind back to the most horrible moment of her life, when she had given up her dream of either finding Ron or discovering his fate.

It had been the hardest decision she had ever reached; that the boy who grew up with her and had stood by her side through so many perils, the boy who, through some extraordinary twist of fortune had become her first and greatest love, was gone from her life. She hadn't accepted this passively. When she had discovered that he was _'missing'_ and not at some GJ Agent academy she had hunted for him with every resource at her disposal. Friends and rivals, heroes and villains, government agencies and headline-hungry news organizations, she had called upon all of them and all of them had responded. To her happy surprise many who had been her foes, people who she believed would revel in her misery, had been sympathetic to her plight and had devoted whatever resources they could rally to the search.

From Drakken to Team Go, from her former cheerleader teammates to the Robot Rumble crowd, everyone she asked was more then happy to offer their time on this mystery. Their zeal made it clear that they all held Ron in pleasant regard, even though he had always downplayed his own influence. Even Drakken, who could never clearly remember the _'Buffoons'_ name, fell into a depressive state from the _'kindred social outcast'_ sympathy he had towards Ron.

Senior Senior Sr., who had looked appreciatively towards Ron ever since the teen had suggested villainy as a retirement hobby, had made the most generous offer of all. The generous octogenarian offered the highest reward ever recorded in human history for any information that could lead to Ron Stoppable. Unfortunately, the staggering offer only generated false hopes in the form of reported sightings all over the globe, sightings that after Wade investigated them, never produced a solid lead. Over time, the bounty disappeared from the headlines and entered the realm of popular, urban legend but Kim still held onto hope.

It wasn't until long after she had cashed in all of her favors that Master Sensei, of the secret Yamanouchi Ninja School, summoned her. She had avoided pestering them as they had a strict code of honor and they had assured her that they would contact her immediately, if their extensive network of agents and informants discovered any news about Ron. Recalling the trip, she could only use the term 'fateful'. It was only when she arrived at the ancient school's entrance that she learned that Master Sensei had reached his long life's final hours. The old man's chosen successor, Yori, ushered her into the aged teacher's room. There, the master that Ron had always revered, the ninja who had always had a twinkle of humor in his wizened eye now looked old, frail, and tired. Wracked by guilt, the old man had made a confession to her, hoping to bring peace to her mind.

The fading master spoke of the Lotus Blade and its chosen master, Ron Stoppable. He told her that the blade and its master shared a unique bond, forged of the Mystical Monkey Power and that Ron's purity of heart maintained this bond. For several months after the boy had vanished, the bond remained strong and Sensei had every confidence that the Chosen One would reappear someday. However, one day the glowing nimbus that surrounded the blade, celebrating its link to its rightful master, faded into nothing. There could only be two explanations, the old man gasped, desperate to complete his final mission before death claimed him. Either Ron's soul had become tainted or the boy was dead. Both answers had saddened the old man and he had maintained his silence, not wanting to destroy Kim's hope that she would someday see her beloved Ron, as he once was, again.

Kim left the School immediately after the ceremony that both interred Sensei's mortal remains and bestowed his former responsibilities upon Yori. Kim returned to Colorado still in denial and still refusing to acknowledge even a possibility of truth behind the former master's words. It took nearly a week before she was able to consider the truth of what he had told her, in an honest and logical manner. When she did, the emotions she had kept repressed flooded out, released at last. After that day, she had made a conscious effort to _'live'_ again, to '_move on_'. The cliches had been abundant; Ron would have wanted her to be happy, he was gone but she was still alive, she would honor his memory best by living her life. She hadn't found a better life, but she stumbled forward not so much for her own sake, but for her collection of friends and family who had become increasingly worried about her.

She heard the TV in the main room shutting off, only realizing that she could actually hear the appliance when the unnoticed background noise was gone. She could hear Ron and Marie exchanging some words, although she couldn't make out what they were saying. She realized that the walls were probably the bare minimum that the building codes allowed, if that much. She made a mental note that if she could hear what was taking place in the bedroom, someone in the bedroom could probably hear what was taking place in the bathroom. This didn't bode well for anyone wanting to use the toilet at a later time.

Getting back to the matter at hand, Kim reviewed the selection of complimentary soaps, shampoos and conditioners available. While they weren't her usual, high-quality products, they were vastly preferable to nothing. Ignoring the conversation that she could hear, but not comprehend, she set about the business of cleaning herself up. While she didn't maintain the long hair that she had sported in high school, the term 'impressive mane' still applied. Washing such a head of hair, especially with the shot-glass sized bottle of shampoo provided, wasn't a quick task despite the fact that she was trying to hurry, to give her companions a turn to clean up, as well. She had just finished washing her hair when she caught the faint sound of the door closing.

For a moment, Kim remained concerned. Despite all of the random movements they had made, they faced the real possibility that someone had either followed or spotted them and that the report had reached Treadstone. After a few moments of peace, however, she allowed her anxiety to pass. Had anyone broken in, Jason would have made a great deal of noise resisting and Marie would have been screaming like a maniac. Panic, however, returned with another thought; had her two companions just abandoned her? She was certainly in no state to pursue them if they had. It made sense; Jason Bourne sense: wait until the unwanted tail was temporarily incapacitated and take advantage of the moment. She knew that Ron … 'Jason', was still holding back from trusting her completely, or at least not as completely as he trusted Marie. It was possible that he could have decided … NO. Marie wouldn't stand for it. After their private words earlier, Kim knew that she had an ally in the vagabond. If Ron had suggested abandoning her in the shower, Marie would have rejected it both vocally and decisively.

With this thought her body relaxed, it relaxed further when she could hear the footfalls of someone striding across the shag-pile carpet in the next room. Conscious of the fact that her companions would want to shower, she quickly began to scrub her body. She was just finishing when she heard a tap on the bathroom door.

"Yes?" She called out.

"Tiffany, we really need to talk," Ron responded. "It's very important."

"Okay, give me a minute," she called back. She wrapped one towel around her hair and wrapped another around her body. For a moment, she considered dressing but her panties were still damp from the sink-washing she had given them and she didn't feel like going commando. Clad in the towel, she opened the bathroom door. Ron was sitting in the room's only chair, his eyes downcast. Her heart nearly broke upon seeing the sadness in his expression when he looked up to meet her eyes.

"Where's Marie?" She asked, noticing the younger woman's absence.

"She's out to get a bite to eat," Ron answered. "I…was hoping that the two of us could…deal with a couple of items alone." Ron punctuated his statement with a gesture towards the bed, inviting Kim to have a seat. Kim did so, arranging the towel to provide her with at least semi-modest coverage.

Jason took a deep breath before starting. "Tiffany," he said. "I have to admit that I suspect that you're not telling me everything that you know about me. Am I correct?"

"Yes…Jason," she admitted. "But keep in mind that we haven't exactly had the chance to sit down and discuss things."

"Still, when I recalled…glimpses…of those three girls, you told me a little but not very much. You told me that I was a mascot, then a football player but where? There's so much you haven't told me."

"Jason, trust me, I'm trying to tell you what you need to know. The complete truth is so bizarre that you probably won't believe me if I tell you. I want you to know that, even though we were as close as two people can possibly be, there are things I didn't know about you, so I can't tell you everything.'

"But you can tell me more than I know right now," Jason insisted, standing up to pace in front of Kim. "Tiffany, I want to trust you. I want to be with you again. I…can't remember my life before the accident, but I have the impression that I was lonely; so very lonely. I don't want that but I need to know that I can trust you before I can…be with you, again."

"You don't need to be lonely," Kim insisted. "I'm here for you, no matter what! I've been lonely, as well."

"For a couple of weeks?" Jason asked.

"Okay, here's another item," Kim admitted. "We were…separated…sometime before your accident. We've both walked a pretty lonely road ever since, but that time's over now. Jason, I want to be with you again, I've missed you so much!"

"What caused us to be separated?" Jason asked, now stopping to look at her with an intent expression. "If we were as close as you claim, if we were as in love as you've been suggesting, what could have ever pulled us apart?"

Kim caught her lower lip between her teeth. How could she answer that? How could she tell this vulnerable, hurting man that she had served him up to such a vile organization, hoping to make him worthy of her?

"It's complicated," she said, at last.

"It always is, isn't it?" Was that a resigned sigh in his voice, as he made his last comment. "Tell me, was this … _'complication'_ …because of me? I know … what I mean to say is that I have had inner glimpses of the man that I was before now, he … I mean 'I' … was detached to things like sensitivity to others. Being with someone like that couldn't have been a picnic. Is it my fault that we stopped seeing each other? Did you break-up with me because I…"

"Jason, listen to me!" She insisted, catching his arm and guiding him to sit next to her. "I love you. I loved you with all my heart. I did then and I do now, but we didn't live a normal life. In fact, our lives were sometimes beyond believing and some of those…unbelievable things…are what pulled us apart. It has taken until now for us to get back together but you have to believe me, it wasn't you! Do you understand? It wasn't you. I don't blame you, I'll never blame you for what happened."

Tentatively, and aware of the bed's motion rocking her hips next to his, Kim placed her head upon his shoulder, inwardly dwelling on this intimate and happy moment with the man she loved. "There is nothing you could have done that would make me give up on you. I know you have more questions than answers and that you see yourself as a puzzle without a solution, but you aren't a mystery, at least not to me."

"I don't want to lose you again, Jason, but if I tell you everything, if we sit down for the hours it will take to just tell you the bare bones of it all, I fear I just might! I just can't risk losing you, not for the second time. Jason, you have to believe me that you're the most important person in my life and I can't risk losing you again!"

"I don't want to lose you, either," Jason told her. "I…I'm just so confused and alone. Other people at least have their memories to keep them company. I don't even have that! Where do I go from here?"

"Well for starters you can deep-six that 'alone' crapola. You aren't alone," Kim persisted. "I'm here now and I'm not going anywhere. Trust me, Jason, if you listen to me and work with me, we'll find you again. I promise. The REAL you."

"The … _'Real'_ me?"

Her hand had found its way to the side of his face, where her index finger reached up to play with the hair above his ear. "I don't want you to be alone and I don't want to feel as though you are, especially when I am right beside you."

His hand found its way to her waist, where it pulled the two of them closer together. "Will you stay with me, Tiffany? Truly?" He asked. "Will you help me with whomever it is trying to find me?"

"Of course," she breathed. "To whatever end we find, we'll find it together! I never want the two of us to be apart again."

The tips of his fingers found the gap in her towel wrap and made contact with her hip's bare flesh. The hand worked its way up her waist in a long, slow caress that took her breath away and made her sincerely hope that Marie was a slow eater. She pulled his face down to her, feeling his warm breath on her face as she closed her eyes.

"Tiffany?" He breathed. His lips so tantalizingly close to hers that she felt the question as well as heard it.

"Yes?" She replied, losing herself in the cascading warmth from his breath as he spoke her false name. Her mind dared and hoped that she had just answered an unasked question with her one-word response.

"Which of your names would you rather hear me shout out, 'Tiffany' or 'Kim'?"

Kim's eyes flew open and her mind lost the seductive thoughts from just a moment ago. Jason's face was mere inches from her own and she could see a snarl form on his lips. His gentle hands suddenly seized her and hurled her back onto the bed. One of the hands deftly caught and kept the towel, leaving her naked and vulnerable.

"We saw a news broadcast," he spat out, his eyes shooting daggers at her as he twirled the towel in his hands. "They showed pictures of you, with that killer who broke into my apartment. It seems that the two of you are '_close, intimate friends'_ and that you're not Tiffany Meadows, you're a former teenaged adventurer named Kim Possible."

"R…Jason, I'm not…" Kim began, only to have Jason's cold, harsh hiss silence her. Her arms lay outstretched and limply as the bed rocked back and forth, denying her the stability she needed to find her balance and escape the wrath she could see building in Jason.

"Seeing this, I decided that a little investigation was in order. I checked everything in your jacket and what did I find? I found two passports, one for Tiffany Meadows and the other for Kim Possible. I also found a rather impressive amount of money, a pristine key and a piece of paper with my phone number and address. Tell me, why would my lover need to record my phone number and address? Isn't that something that you trust to memory?"

"Jason, listen I…"

"Even with all of that, I gave you one, last chance to come clean. I asked you one, last time to tell me everything but what did you do? You claimed that I wasn't ready for the truth! Who's not ready for me to learn the whole truth, you or me?"

"Jason, please…" she pled. "I want to help you…"

"Help me?" He almost roared. "Or help yourself? I can just about read the headlines right now; '_famed heroine takes revenge on her lover's murderer by bringing the psychotic bastard to justice!_' All this time you've been telling me what a sweet, supportive cupcake I used to be. Well, it seems to me that cupcakes don't make enemies that come rappelling in through their windows like that. Cupcakes don't know how to kill assassins or intimidate police with a subcompact. That means that I wasn't some little sweetheart and you've been lying to me!"

Kim tried to skitter back on the bed, away from him. He had quit twirling the towel and now held a rattail, the favored tool of locker room bullies.

"I don't know where I've heard this expression before, but it seems very appropriate," he informed her. "_What isn't given can be taken_. I really didn't want to do this, whoever you are, Tiff … Kimmy, but you haven't given me much choice. You've decided to make this '_dog-eat-dog_' and I'm tired of being the one getting bit, especially when my fangs are a hell of a lot bigger then yours."

Kim caught her breath as Ron held up the crude torture implement. In that moment before he flicked his wrist and released the twisted cotton, in that moment of thundering silence, they both heard a distinct sound.

The sound of the room's deadbolt unlocking.

***

During her short life, Marie had learned that hating was pretty much useless. Yet, she did have a few things she honestly hated and chief among these was leers. The young vagabond had been on the receiving end of those expressions all over North America and Europe, no matter the language, no matter the culture, there were always some people who could cast their dirty, sometimes obscene, thoughts onto another with a simple expression. Take the lumbering doorman, with that simple, hated expression he broadcast the fact that he had certain…expectations…about what was going to take place between the two of them as soon as they reached the suite. He wasn't only looking at her with that loathsome mixture of contemplation and self-satisfaction, he ambled with a swaggering strut as he accompanied her towards the room she had left only a few minutes earlier.

She did not know exactly what to expect to find when she and her temporary bodyguard opened the door. She only knew that having a large, mostly hairless gorilla with her would be preferable to going solo if she was going to stop Jason from doing what she suspected he was going to do, or maybe already was doing. Besides, she needed the master key that he slid into the lock while she prayed that they were in time.

With a deft twist of his thick wrist, the doorman unlocked the door. The deadbolt made a quiet, but distinctive click, a thunderous sound in the quiet hallway. With a deep breath, Marie turned the doorknob and pushed her way into the room, pretty sure that she didn't want to see whatever waited for her on the other side.

The door swung out of her path, revealing a scene that she wasn't expecting. She was expecting something from one of the classic noir movies that she loved as a teenager; the victim tied to a wooden chair, a single bare light bulb slowly swinging overhead and the interrogator standing over the slumped and battered victim. The fact that she knew Jason didn't have the resources needed to transform the comfortable, if kinky, hotel room to her dungeon fantasy hadn't impacted her imagination. The scene that waited her, however, caught her by surprise.

Lying on the bed, in all her naked glory, out-of-breath and with a startled expression plastered across her features was the woman she had revered as a young girl, Kim Possible. For a moment, Marie thought that the two of them had decided to indulge in a little fun, until her eyes strayed to the man standing over the former teen heroine. Not only was Jason fully clothed, his expression, at least before shocked surprise overtook it, was of rage. Not only that, but he was holding a twisted towel in his hands and Marie had been on the receiving end of a rattail on too many occasions to think that the two were indulging in some foreplay.

Even though the scene caught her by surprise, Marie didn't have the luxury of simply standing there, open-mouthed, like Kim and Jason. She had to take control of the situation before the 'Yeti' next to her became suspicious.

With her mind racing at warp 10, she could only think of one way to accomplish this. Sucking in a deep breath and drawing herself up to her full, less-than-imposing height, she offered a silent prayer to any deity listening in that she would be able to pull off the half-baked plan still forming in her mind. She put on her best 'outraged and betrayed' face and stormed into the room.

"YOU BASTARD!" She shrieked at the stunned Jason. "I _knew_ you were going to try to screw her. I thought we had a look, play, but no insertion policy! "Did you think I would forget Rome? It was the same thing this time, 'dear, let's spice things up a little,' then you try to get me out of the picture long enough for a little, private party with the local street trash!"

Jason's mouth opened wider, then snapped shut as he tried to digest this latest development. His continued shock gave Marie the opportunity to stalk across the room and continue her verbal assault, planting herself directly in front of him and punctuating her tirade with finger-pokes into the blonde's chest.

"Do you think I am so naive that I couldn't see through your little excuse to get me to leave the room? _'Oh darling, why don't you go down to the lobby and arrange for some strawberries and Champaign to be sent up for us, get yourself a coffee, so you can stay awake longer, while you're at it.' _Did you honestly believe I couldn't put two and two together? Did you think that I would forget your little game in Italy? At least that one came from a service! This one? We picked her up off the street. For all we know, she could be carrying a whole biohazard dictionary between her legs! That's why we set the ground rules we did! I'm not going to risk catching something because you had to try some forbidden fruit and couldn't keep your '_little friend'_ safely zipped up."

"Why do our 'no screw' agreements go out the window the minute you're out of my sight? Let me remind you, you can fondle, spank, tie her up, rub her down, massage, cover or smear her with anything your perverted mind desires, but you do not have SEX with her! I am _not_ going to risk contracting a STD because you haven't figured out that your wild oats have been domesticated! For God's sake, she might have serviced half of Paris for all we know. I'm giving you a choice here, you can either follow our agreement and we can both share in a bit of fun with the whore, or you can go all _'I wear the pants and I fuck who I want to fuck.'_ Like you did in Rome. In case you decide to take the second choice, I bought up Jacque from the foyer to help teach you the error of treating your wife with such disrespect."

The massive doorman must have understood English, or he at least understood the situation. He played his part, cracking his knuckles and giving a menacing scowl that would have probably intimidated a shark. Marie had no doubts that if it came down to a fight that Jason would probably hand her French bodyguard his own ass. However, she was also certain that Jason wouldn't risk the confrontation, and the attention it would draw.

Jason regained his composure, unraveled the towel and contemptuously flung it at the naked redhead. Playing the part of a busted, naughty husband, he put on a chagrined expression, dropped his gaze and scuffed his feet like a schoolboy.

"You're right." He muttered. "I … I shouldn't have tried to start the fun without you, but you know how partial I am to redheads. I got greedy. Forgive me?"

Folding her arms across her chest, Marie appeared to study her 'husband's' sincerity. After glaring at him for a few minutes, she turned her attention towards Kim, who had just finished covering her nudity with the towel that Jason had thrown her way. "Whore," the vagabond said in her halting French. "Let's understand something. His man's part is my property. For you, it is not to be touched, whether it's covered or not. Do you understand?"

Marie prayed that Kim knew enough French, or understood the tone of the lecture, to pull off the ruse. Kim responded my nodding her head, her expression indicating that she, like Jason, understood what Marie was trying to do. Still, she looked apprehensive, clearly frightened about what was about to happen when Marie's little play came to an end.

Marie continued to glare at her companions, shifting her baleful gaze between Kim and Jason. After several minutes, during which everyone but the doorman held his or her breath, Marie dropped her stern expression.

"I have to admit that I'm looking forward to our little adventure," she murmured, allowing a predatory grin to claim her face. "And it would be a real shame to make due with a…damaged…man." She turned and approached her hijacked doorman.

"I am sorry that I gave you a false impression," she told the hulking man, in her imperfect French. "I did not think you would have come with me if I had been honest."

"It is nothing," the big man declared grandly. "It was a pleasure to assist one so charming and generous." He gently kissed her proffered hand and turned to return to his post.

Marie understood his attitude; she had given him what probably equated to a day and a half worth of wages, which he had earned tax-free by simply walking a few hundred feet. He might be a little disappointed that he hadn't provided a different service, but he wasn't about to feel resentful. As she closed the door, she overheard him mumbling a bit under his breath. She couldn't be sure but is sounded like he was commenting about this being the third time that this had happened to him this week.

With the door locked on the rest of the world, Marie turned and confronted her two, reunited companions. Jason was confused and angry, Kim was confused and frightened. For several, endless minutes the three just stared at each other. Finally, Jason broke the silence.

"I don't know what kind of game you're playing, Marie," he said. "But you…"

"Shut up and listen to me!" Marie snapped; jolted out of her momentary indecisiveness by Jason having the gall to even speak after what he had been doing. She marched across the room and confronted him in the same manner that she had done, for the doorman's benefit, moments before.

"What happened to the sincere man who honestly didn't know his past?" She snarled. "Where do you get off torturing another human being?"

Marie tried hard not to sound to hypocritical, after all it was only several hours earlier that she was willing to silently step aside and let Jason do whatever he had to do in order to extract answers from Kim Possible's boyfriend. And if Tiffany … Kim, hadn't stepped up and did the whole _'your better then that speech'_, she probably would have let Jason get as gruesome as he had to in order to find out about the fate of her big brother and how she had gotten mixed up in whatever was happening with Jason.

"What were you going to do after you had sweated the answers out of her? You couldn't just let her go, that's for sure! I don't care who you were or what you did before you woke up on the fishing boat; it's what you do now that matters. The Jason Bourne I traveled across Europe with would have never done that."

"But she…" Jason protested.

"She saved you life back in your apartment, and maybe she also saved your soul as well!" Marie snarled back. "She flashed that killer to distract him while I got the knife to you! If she had wanted you dead, she would have, literally, stabbed you in the back. And just before you were going to do an impression of The Grand Inquisitor Torquemada, she stopped you then as well."

"But the news…" Jason began again.

"Is it real because it's on television?" Marie demanded. "Is it real because it's in print? What have you _seen_, Jason? You _saw_ her fight that hyena. If those two were close, intimate friends, do you think he would have roughed her up as bad as he did? If she was trying to set you up, do you think she would have been stupid enough to let you out of her sight? You could have broke and run when she was making that call or taking her shower. She trusted you to stick with her both times!"

Jason fell silent, reviewing the last several hours in his mind.

"Thank you, Marie," Kim said, full of sincere gratitude. "I hope…"

"As for you!" Marie cut off Kim's statement. "I can't tell you how disappointed I am that Kim Possible, the girl I idolized when I was a tween, could lead Jason on the way you have! I was a proud member of the Kim Possible Fan Club, Mole Rat Burrow 72 in Boston. I don't exactly understand why the fan club was organized into mole rat burrows, rather than chapters, but you get the idea. I expected better from you! You're not setting him up, but you aren't telling him the truth, either. Why did you introduce yourself as Tiffany Meadows, anyway? Why did you need someone to give you his address? For that matter, who gave you his address? I think we need to know this before we can do anything else."

"I don't even know where to begin," Kim told the angry young woman, feeling very humbled at suddenly discovering that the young woman she had been at emotional odds with throughout the bulk of the day, was infact a bonafide member of her Fan Club.

"How about with the questions I just asked you?" Marie shot back.

"How can I know that I can trust her answers," Jason interjected, rallying and re-entering the debate. "She lied about her name, how can we believe anything else?" Suddenly, the blonde man's eyes widened, then narrowed at Marie. "For that matter, how can I trust you, Marie? It seems rather convenient that you spent all day with this former teenaged hero, but you didn't recognize your childhood idol until that newscast. Are you being straight with me, Marie, or did someone plant you in Zurich, hoping I'd latch onto you and lead you to something else? Dear God, how can I trust anyone?"

As these claims settled upon the ears, Marie's, eyes began well up in tears as disbelief creased across her features. She could not believe after everything she had endured that Jason was now turning his paranoia upon her now.

"Okay, I have an idea," Kim told them, squirming her way towards the edge of the bed. For a moment, she was tempted to let Ron's suspicions drive a wedge between him and Marie, but decided that it was more important to address his paranoia head on. "Does this little temple to fornication have internet access?"

"What are you getting at?" Jason demanded.

"The truth, and the proof you need," Kim told him. "If you think that I've managed to subvert the entire net, then you'll never trust me. On the other hand, if you can use some random search engines, that you select, to verify some of my statements, maybe we can get somewhere."

Jason gave her a hard glare but opened drawers and doors in the sparse furnishings. Sure enough, he located a keyboard next to the television. While he was reading the instructions, Kim came to the conclusion that modesty did not require that she cover her hair. By the time she had removed the towel from her hair and added it to her scanty body covering, Jason had figured out how to access the net from the room.

"Since I didn't have a credit card, I had to leave a fairly large deposit at the front desk," Jason explained as he turned on the keyboard and changed the television to the proper channel. "They'll deduct the access fees from the deposit if we don't pay up when we check out."

"We can afford it," Kim told him. "Now, do you know any search engines?"

"Yeah," the blonde replied. "I don't know where I recall them from, but I know how to find things on line."

"Okay, Marie and I are going to get out of line of site of the screen. I want you, and only you, to do these searches." In response to her request, Jason aligned the screen as far as he could towards the room's window while Kim and Marie walked towards the room's door.

"Now," Kim instructed, after everyone was in place. "I want you to do a search on the name 'Kim Possible'. I want you to find a picture of me so you know that that's my real name." Kim smiled a little wryly. "Keep in mind that almost all of the pictures will be from my teenaged years, so you may have to add age in your own mind."

Jason actually favored her with a momentary grin before his customary scowl returned and he went to work. "No search engines are under the 'favorites' tab on the home page," he reported. "I think you can guess what kind of sites _are_ under the 'favorites' tab."

"I don't want any details," Kim flinched. "And I don't want you to tell me which engine you're using. You are going to have full control of this little exercise."

"Okay, I'm calling up some images now," Jason reported. For the next several minutes, Jason glanced between the screen and Kim. On occasion, he would ask her to turn her head, allowing her to view her in profile. He jotted down a few notes while doing so. Finally…

"Okay, I'm convinced," he reported at last. "You're either Kim Possible, her twin, or someone who has been altered to look like her. What now?"

"It's time for you to learn your real name," Kim told him. "Search the name 'Ron Stoppable'"

"Okay," Jason said. A few minutes of clicking from the keyboard told the two women that he was working. "There's no where near the number of entries for Ron Stoppable as there are for Kim Possible, but I've found a few."

"What do they say about Ron Stoppable?" Kim asked.

"There's a pretty wide range of reports," Jason told her. "Most seem to say that he was Kim Possible's sidekick during their teen years." Jason paused a moment. "You're claiming that I was Ron Stoppable, aren't you?"

"Yes," Kim told him. "And I'm going to be calling you Ron from now on. Why don't you find some images and compare them to the face you see in the mirror?"

"I have," Ron insisted. "And the pictures don't look very much like the mirror. I know that it's been a few years, but aging doesn't seem to account for the changes.

"Okay, you've undergone extensive plastic surgery," Kim told him. "I'm going to need you to visualize a little bit. Now, don't let me see the picture but I want you to look at that picture and imagine the chin strengthened and squared, and some more definition to the cheekbones."

"Okay," Ron complied.

"Now, look in a mirror," Kim requested. Ron complied, by looking at the ceiling over the bed.

"It just might be," Ron grudgingly admitted. "I could just be this person."

Marie, in the meantime, couldn't deny her curiosity. She looked at the picture on the screen and gasped.

"It's you! You're the guy who used to go on the missions with her! You were her sidekick!"

"Partner," Kim growled at the younger woman. "But yes, we were friends since before kindergarten. Finally, in our late teens, we both pulled our heads out and developed a romantic attachment."

"So what happened?" Ron asked. Kim thrilled to hear that it was really a question and not a demand. "If my real name is Ron Stoppable, then why am I going around thinking of myself as 'Jason Bourne'?"

"Ron, I'll give you the bare bones of it, but I'm too tired to spend the hours it will take to delve into the details, even the ones that I know." Again, Kim was heartened by the fact that Ron didn't become angry. Apparently, telling him his name had done a great deal to gain his trust.

"I don't know, in any detail, what you've been doing for the last eight years," Kim told her (former?) boyfriend. "But I know a couple of things. You wonder who you were before the fishing boat. I can tell you that there's another big 'before and after' in your life. Eight years ago, you were kidnapped by an undercover, government agency known as Treadstone. They turned you from Ron Stoppable to Jason Bourne. For some reason, a reason Treadstone didn't fully understand, you quit being Jason Bourne a week or so ago. They supported a 'worst-case' scenario deal and believed you had chosen to either defect or retire from service. Neither option particularly pleased them as they had invested a great deal of resources in developing your unique … skills. I suspected then as I do definitely now, that they would rather see you dead then have someone else benefit from the fruits of their training. When you vanished from Treadstone's radar, a representative tracked me down and told me about the truth of your fate. After years of believing you were dead, I was told that you were infact alive and were _'Missing in Action'_. They thought my early familiarity with you might offer me an advantage in smoking you out into the open."

"I played along with them so that I could pick up your trail," Kim quickly continued, seeing Ron's expression start to darken. "They were hoping that I bring you back so that they could recondition you. They gave me your address and phone number, hoping that I would be able to get you to give yourself up peacefully." Kim snorted, "I'm idealistic but not blind. I knew that they were going to kill both of us once you reappeared. I didn't think that they would have an assassin waiting at your apartment building."

"That's why you called me Ron when he broke in," Ron whispered.

"I was caught by surprise and forgot your name was Jason," Kim confirmed.

"Why didn't you tell me all this before?" Ron asked.

"When have we had the time?" Kim asked. "And would you have believed me?"

"After you showed me my teenaged pictures, I probably would have," Ron answered, but not with very much conviction. Ron looked painfully long at the still image of the smiling Ron Stoppable upon the computer screen. "But Why? Why would I choose this life? Why out of everyone on the planet did they select me to be 'kidnapped'? You were the hero, why would they target your assistant?"

These were question's Kim silently wished he wouldn't ask, though it would have been naive of her not to have expected it. But she still hadn't though of a way to truthfully answer it without coming off looking bad, not only to Ron or Marie, but herself as well.

How do you tell someone that their life was turned upside down because of some sick and twisted vendetta by a Government Agency, all because of all the ill-planned good deeds and intentions you tried to carry out as a teenager? Or that you invited this pain upon the only person you ever truly loved because you were ashamed that he was content to working as a faceless drone in a Mega store, and you thought you deserved better then to be shackled to someone on minimum wage? Or even worse, that he embraced the lifestyle of a Government Killer out of spite because he believed she had betrayed the love he felt for her, abandoning it to have a raunchy and secret affair that ended up her falling pregnant?

None of these explanations settled her own heartache and she suspected that if she shared these truths now that it would probably be too much for Ron to take in. She didn't not want to look as though she was still hiding the truth, but she did not want to share this truth until Ron had settled into understanding the reality of his situation first. Fortunately, Marie was able to deflect the issue with a more pressing reality of current events.

"Okay, we have some answers and a whole lot more questions," Marie declared. "But the one that concerns me the most is this government agency that want's to kill Ja…Ron. If they run the Metro and Interpol, what chance do we have to get away?"

"I don't think that they run these agencies," Kim replied. "They are able to…influence and manipulate…them, as well as the news media, to a certain extent."

"Still, were in deep shit," Ron muttered. "I'm sure our pictures are going to be up all over Paris, all over Europe, before too much longer. What do we do now?"

"We have to find sanctuary, somewhere where we can work to get the rest of your memories back," Kim told him.

"But where?" Marie demanded. "If these people have infiltrated international law enforcement, there's no place to go. Okay, there are a few countries that don't cooperate, but I really don't look forward to living in any of them, even assuming we could get to one. I don't think the Pope is going to put us up in the Vatican. Do you happen to know anybody who owns and his own country and are willing to put us up?"

"Actually, I do!" Kim gasped, the obvious solution brought to mind by Marie's complaint. "And it's just a hop, skip and jump from here…from a world traveler's perspective."

"Oh," Ron interjected, half sarcastically and half hopefully. "And I suppose he has castle walls and a moat to keep out the rest of the world."

"I wouldn't call it a castle so much as a mansion on a privately owned island." Kim giggled. "And the moat is full of piranha, if he hasn't replaced them with koi."

"You're … you're serious, aren't you?" Ron shook his head. "What kind of person could be rich enough to afford his own nation but still childish enough to throw together some sort of movie lair of doom?"

"It isn't a nation, it's an island," Kim corrected him. "You won't recognize him, but I'm sure he'll recognize you. After all, he put the movie lair of doom together at your suggestion."

Kim couldn't help herself, she broke out into helpless laughter at Ron's and Marie's confused expressions.

"I hope you like the sun," she managed at last. "Because Senior's Island gets a lot of it."

I hope that this chapter helped settle some of the built up excitement.

_Next Chapter_ : Ron meets one of Kim's old _'boyfriends'_. And Kim finds her credibility and claim _'of only loving Ron'_ now in question as a result. Bon-Bon takes a liking to the new Hunk on the island with the aim of making Junior jealous (but how much of it is an act?), and he's not the only one who gets a visit by the green-eyed monster. All this and ninja's to ;-)…lol.

IMPORTANT : I say this with each posting, but I sincerely mean it. Over half of this story was written by daccu65, as I was the victim of writer's block. Any credit this chapter receives in your reviews are ones that need to also be directed towards my muse and inspiration …lol.

R & R


	11. Chapter 11

The morning light that streamed through the windows was very subdued. Of course, the room was not one intended for patrons who welcomed either the dawn or illumination. Still, combined with the strange bed and the odd tapping sounds, the light was enough to wake up Kim Possible. Conscious of warmth on her right side, Kim looked that direction and was disappointed to see Marie sleeping next to her. Kim sighed; knowing that Ron would be hard at work on the internet, just like he was last night.

Last night, after revealing Ron's real name, she had spent an hour and a half divulging selected portions of the mystery man's history. Kim had been forced to call a halt to the session, exhausted and as talked-out as she had ever been in her life. She doubted that she had ever shared as much with her $300 an hour therapist, Dr. Klem, than she had with these semi-strangers. While Ron had asked a few, pointed questions, it was Marie that had pressed the redhead for details. The young woman had idolized Kim growing up, and took full advantage of her proximity to find out as much as she possibly could. Ron had simply observed the information dump, dividing his time between the two women and the computer in front of him. It had taken Kim several minutes to realize that Ron was analyzing her, verifying the answers she gave Marie.

Ron was still an enigma. After that temporary grin, when Kim insisted he mentally add some years to any images of her he found, he had put his game face back on. Those brown orbs showed neither hostility nor friendliness; they simply sucked up every action and reaction, delivering the raw data to the mind behind them.

Ninety minutes after Kim revealed Ron's true name; the first yawn had burst from Marie's mouth, prompting an answering one from Kim. Both women had finally hit the figurative wall. The only one in the trio that hadn't shown any exhaustion was Ron, whose Treadstone conditioning had inured him from such human frailties, or at least kept him from showing the effects. Still, Ron had understood that he needed to keep his companions functional, so he had called a halt to the questions and answers and chased Marie into the shower to clean up before perusing the hotel's services for some food. The last memory Kim had, before exhaustion claimed her, was settling in to sleep while Ron had taken his turn in the shower. Now, the early morning light revealed Ron, clad in only a towel around his waist, working away at the internet.

"Did you get any sleep last night?" Kim asked him, while she tried to get off of the waterbed without waking Marie. Her scanty apparel didn't help her efforts. She and Marie had hung up most of their clothing, opting to let the garments air out. Getting out of a waterbed, clad in a wrapped around towel while maintaining ones modesty wasn't an easy endeavor. She was somewhat disappointed that she didn't need to try. Ron only had eyes for the screen in front of him.

"I rested a little," Ron replied, never taking his eyes from the screen.

"That isn't exactly the question I asked," Kim retorted, in a gentle voice.

"No," his voice held no emotion. "I couldn't settle down. I thought it would be a good idea to get to know me, so I spent most of my time researching myself and making some plans."

"You've rejected my plan to go to Seniors Island?" Kim demanded, consciously, repressing an urge to sidle up behind him and wrap her arms around his chest. "What have you come up with instead?"

"I didn't say I rejected your plan," Ron corrected her. "It's a good goal, but we need to think about how we're getting there. We're still a good, long way from the Mediterranean Coast and we don't have any way of actually getting to the island, once we reach the coast. I know I can't swim the distance you described and I don't think that you and Marie can either. Now, let's take into account that the news agencies are showing our faces and descriptions to everyone who's bothering to look. We need to supply ourselves, get some disguises and acquire transportation."

Kim could only nod, his reasoning was sound. "Have you come up with anything?" She asked.

"Nothing specific. I was thinking of taking a chance on the metros to get us out of the city proper. After that, we could steal some clothing and a car and head south. Once we get to the coast, we could try to steal a boat."

"If we steal a car, the police are going to be looking for it," Kim pointed out.

"Do you have a better plan?"

"Actually, I do. I have another favor I can call on, here in Paris."

"And you waited until now to bring this up?" Ron's tone was all politeness, but his expression was anything but.

"Because I didn't think that a simple boutique owner could offer us much in the way of help until you outlined our challenge!" Kim snapped. "No, he won't be able to get us transportation or hide us very long, but he might be able to disguise us and help us with some other things, like clothing. Would YOU think of calling on a hairdresser when someone's coming at you with a knife?"

"Okay, fair enough," Ron nodded. "It would have slipped my mind as well. A developing tactical situation dictates changing resource requirements." For a moment, Ron took on a thoughtful expression, as if wondering where that latest pearl of wisdom had come from. "What's your plan?"

"We call on Francois," Kim told him. "He'll be able to cut and die our hair, and do some makeup to alter our appearances. He should be able to have one of his employees go out and buy some clothes for us, so you don't have to face the horrors of taking two women clothes shopping in Paris."

Kim's joke elicited a small, very brief smile from Ron. "Okay, I have no idea who Francois is, but that sounds like a plan. I want to bounce it off of Marie."

"No need," the vagabond's voice announced from the bed. "But I think you need to add a decent meal to the priority list."

Kim's stomach immediately growled in agreement with that last observation. Surprisingly, Ron's did, as well. The hotel didn't have a room service menu, just some…appetizers. The strawberries and champagne had been tasty but not filling.

"We need some real food," Ron agreed. "Something rich in cholesterol, sugar, carbs and fats."

"You always were an expert on comfort food," Kim remarked. "Why don't we get ready and head to Francois' place? Once we get disguised, we'll have a better chance at a peaceful meal."

Not waiting for an answer, Kim retrieved her clothing and stepped into the bathroom to change. It became clear to the redhead that neither Ron nor Marie knew how porous the walls were, in regards to sound. As soon as she closed the door, Kim heard Marie whisper a question to Ron. Kim didn't know if she was offering her companions the chance to converse privately, or if she was trying to eavesdrop on their conversation. She simply dressed as slowly as possible, straining to hear the barely audible conversation in the next room.

As soon as the door closed, separating her from her childhood hero, Marie brought her palms to her face and rubbed vigorously at her eyes. "Wow," she commented. "Yesterday was some day. Did you get any sleep?"

The male figure in front of her, whose eyes had followed the redhead into the small room, focused on Marie for a bare instant before returning to the closed door. He made no sign that he was going to answer her question.

Marie blew the bangs off of her brow in a childish show of irritation. She didn't mind Jas…Ron, being all 'strong and silent', to be honest, she found it a bit of a turn on, but she didn't like the way the man was looking at Kim. Maybe she was experiencing hero envy or maybe she knew that the former heroine outclassed her in nearly every conceivable category. The fact was that a few hours ago she was the insider and 'Tiffany' was the suspicious outsider. Now, after Kim had revealed both her and Ron's identities, Kim had started to displace her as Ron's confidant, pushing the vagabond into the outsider role. The problem with any group of three people was that two always seemed to interact, leaving the third one all alone.

Last night, she had tried to conceal her discomfort by barraging Kim with questions, trying to insinuate herself into the two-person team. Unfortunately, she had the impression that she came off as more of a babbling groupie than a potential teammate. She was actually relieved when sheer exhaustion had halted the night's revelations.

Still, she hadn't earned the Jason Bourne silent treatment, not after everything they had gone through together. If he was going to get chilly towards Kim, that was the redhead's damage, but she deserved better. At least, she had earned a simple acknowledgement.

"You know, humans generally respond to other humans' inquiries."

"I heard you," Ron turned his attention back to Marie. "And I'm not ignoring you. I'm just…processing…and no, I didn't get any sleep."

Marie rolled over to the edge of the bed, consciously keeping the towel where it belonged. "Processing?" She asked. "What's to process? You're Ron Stoppable, Kim Possible's partner."

"So that's who I am, Ron Stoppable? She just tells me this and Jason Bourne is dead and gone?"

"I would think you would want that," Marie answered him. "You've been asking the 'Who am I' question since we met. Now you know."

"Ron Stoppable is a name, not a person. Jason Bourne is a name, but he's not me either. She wants me to be someone I don't know."

"What do you mean?"

"Kim doesn't want me, not me 'me'. She wants me to be this…guy…on her website but she hasn't asked me if I want to be him. She's just assuming that she can show up, tell me my identity and wham! I'm this Ron Stoppable guy again. I spent a good piece of the night researching this guy and he was a joke! He was a screw-up, comic relief for the incredible Kim Possible. If you told the guy to turn left, he'd turn right; not because he was difficult, because he didn't know left from right. You were a member of her fan club; did you even know his name?"

Marie shook her head.

"And this guy was at her side for something like a dozen years! How can anybody take a guy like that seriously?"

"So what's the substitute?" Marie asked. "Do you want to be Jason Bourne?"

"Oh, _**there's**_ a choice. I'm either the hopeless buffoon or the shadow assassin. I will say this, Jason is a hell of a lot better than Ron, and at least people take Jason seriously."

"Okay, what about door number 3? What's wrong with who you are now? I kinda like him. We could call you Ronald Bourne, or Jason Stoppable."

"Those are still just names, Marie."

"That's not my point," Marie shook her head. "What I'm trying to say is that you can be whoever you choose. Okay, you have the choice between the incompetent and the soulless. Since neither one is all that appealing, choose neither! It's who you are now that counts! Besides, if you were to ask her, " Marie head-gestured towards the bathroom door, " she'll probably have something else to say about Ron Stoppable being worthy of respect."

"I can grasp that," Jason nodded. "The problem I have is that she hasn't asked me if I want to be Ron Stoppable again. For good or bad, Kim took on the task of recovering Ron Stoppable…HER Ron Stoppable. Both her old website and you agree that she can do anything, but I don't know if I can be him, or if I want to. She keeps telling these fantastic stories and do you know what I thought? Insane! Completely insane; a blue, mad scientist, a green hued, glowy chick with nasty claws, a golfer with a testosterone surplus and a martial arts master with a monkey fetish. How is it that I can't remember any of this? For Christ sake, I was an 8-foot human/possum thingamajig. Why can't I remember that?"

"Uh, first of all it was a beaver," Marie corrected him. "Secondly, most of those rather odd criminals did exist; you can look up the news articles and their criminal records. Third, if you couldn't remember the name you had for eighteen years, why is it so hard to believe that you wouldn't remember being a giant, furry, dam-building man-rodent for a couple of hours? Okay, so you're not happy with the idea of being Ron Stoppable for the rest of your life? Get to know him a little better, get to know Jason Bourne a little better, and find out what parts of each of them you want to keep."

"I don't think it's that easy," Ron replied, shaking his head sadly. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, his expression had become soulful. "I've been trying to come to grips with this all night, Marie. I've researched every story that Kim told us and while she's been truthful with us, the stories haven't sparked any memories. About three hours ago I quit trying to prompt memories and decided to look into why I can't. If Kim and I saved the world as many times as we did, and I have proof that we did, why can't I pull up a single memory? If the two of us were an item, why didn't I catch a glimpse of her when I had the glimmer of those three other girls?"

"Maybe you're trying too hard? Maybe if you stopped forcing yourself these things will start to come to you a lot easier."

"I don't think so," Ron countered. "I've been trying to remember everything and while I've managed the occasional glimpse, nothing has involved her. Even if we weren't an item, I have the proof that we went into life and death situations together and I still can't get even a glimpse. I caught a glimpse of three girls, only one of which I even dated. Don't you think that over a decade of constant companionship and five or so years of going into harm's way would warrant a slight glimmer? She said that we were closer than siblings were and that she doesn't have a single memory up through her teens that don't include me, in some form. Why can't I return the favor?"

"I take it you have a theory?"

"A half formed one," Ron admitted. "I don't think it's as simple as me 'forgetting' her…I honestly think it's all about me _'rejecting'_ who I once was. At the same time, I'm rejecting …her. If that's the case, if I'm rejecting Ron Stoppable and Kim Possible, what does that imply?"

"Okay, let's go with your 'rejection' theory for the moment, Sigmund. I have no idea but I think you're trying to present something to me."

"I am," he admitted. "Exhibit number one, from the moment we met her, I've had this underlying animosity towards her that I couldn't explain. I still can't."

"Jas..er..Ron, you were kidnapped and brainwashed. They did a complete _'Manchurian Candidate_' on you. Maybe they made you _think_ you hated her."

"I thought about that," Ron countered. "But it doesn't hold up to close scrutiny. Why would they waste their time on the sidekick? What made me so special that they would risk exposure by grabbing me?"

"Ron, you were Kim Possible's partner," Marie pointed out. "You helped her save the world nearly a hundred times over. That says something about you, something that this Treadstone outfit would want to exploit."

"Then why take me out of the game? If I was doing so much good with her, wouldn't they have left me out on the playing field?"

"Duh! Ruthless assassin organization! Did you just forget your previous occupation? The people who warped you aren't the good guys; they don't follow anyone's rules! They turned you into a cold-blooded killer so that they could have a professional hit man on speed dial."

"That still doesn't make sense," Ron insisted. "Why Ron Stoppable, the screw up who couldn't keep his pants on? If all they wanted was a professional killer, they could have recruited better raw material than Ron, they could have recruited from the SEALs or the Green Berets. No, they invested a whole lot of effort and took a big risk to turn Ron Stoppable into Jason Bourne. After they did that, they set me up here, in Paris, with a new name and a new life, confident that I wouldn't make any attempt to contact my family or friends. What they did was aimed, somehow, at Kim and as much as I want to know what they wanted to accomplish, that's not the question that's bothering me right now."

"You still want to know why you can't catch the slightest glimpse of your life with her," Marie concluded. "And you don't want other questions to distract you until you solve that mystery."

"Exactly," Ron agreed. "We can worry about what Treadstone hoped to accomplish at a later time. What's important right now is that I feel animosity towards Kim and I can't explain why."

"And you don't think that this animosity is Treadstone inspired, why?" Marie prompted.

"Because I don't feel the same animosity towards any of my former enemies," Ron explained. "I dug up records and pictures of the blue mad scientist, the green psycho-bitch, the monkey guy and the weird fish-guy. None of them elicited the same response. In addition, I looked up information about my parents and my adoptive sister. While I can't recall them, I actually got a bit of a…fond…vibe towards them."

"I'm assuming that you'll get to the point about this."

"I'm just trying to be thorough," Ron offered her a rare, brief smile. "I now present my summation. I acknowledge that I cannot fully trust my emotions, due to Treadstone manipulation. However, I cannot believe that Treadstone is in business simply to manipulate its stable. The manipulation has to be a means to an end. If Treadstone instilled this animosity towards Kim, perhaps to sever my ties to my former life, they would have included my family, as well. Since I don't feel any animosity towards them, I have to conclude that this animosity does not originate with Treadstone."

"That … well, that actually makes a bit of sense," Marie agreed.

"Secondly, I feel no animosity towards the people who used to try to kill me. That leads me to believe that this animosity I feel towards Kim must be something unique between the two of us, something she did."

"Love is a powerful emotion," Marie cut in. "If you were as close as she claims, if you were as in love as she says, such a powerful emotion could easily become warped. An insult from a cherished lover is more damaging than the same insult from a complete stranger."

"I understand that," Ron nodded. "But that doesn't take into account the fact that I feel no animosity towards my parents who, if I can believe the sites, weren't terribly close to me."

"Are you ready to present me with your conclusions yet, Holmes?" Marie joked.

"One last piece of supporting evidence, first, my dear Watson." Ron answered. "Kim has been fairly reluctant to offer information. Oh, she'll expand a little when I come up with something and she'll reveal something when we corner her, but she doesn't want me to know everything."

"That again," Marie muttered. "Okay, you feel hostility towards her and nobody else. You're completely blank as far as she's concerned, and she isn't forthcoming with the information. What's your conclusion?"

"I suspect that she did something that alienated the two of us," Ron told his companion. "And that brings up another question, did Treadstone actually kidnap me and take me away from her, or did I give myself up to Treadstone to get away from her?"

Ron's conclusions stunned Marie into silence. It was obvious that Ron expected some response, either a denial or acceptance, but the vagabond couldn't decide between the two. Instead, Marie found herself recalling the street conversation she had had with her childhood hero the previous evening. The desperate love that the redhead felt towards, and was keeping secret from, Ron still haunted the vagabond. Ron's eyes softened and she knew that he was silently begging her to shoot down the far-fetched, yet strangely plausible theory he had just presented. She wanted to tell him to take a 'chill pill' and stop introducing imaginary conspiracies to an already tense situation. The only problem was that she couldn't, in all honesty, do so.

It always surprised her how the most poignant ideas could be conveyed without speaking. She so wanted to support Ron, to tell him that his overnight deductions were evil fantasy, but she had to admit that his scenario was logical. It would explain why Kim was so guarded. While Marie couldn't believe that her idol had brazenly handed Ron to this monstrous organization, Kim was hiding something. The vagabond recalled Kim stating that she was withholding information for Ron's benefit, but now she wasn't sure. Ron's theories were chillingly plausible. Was Kim Possible trying to protect Ron Stoppable, or herself? Marie honestly didn't know. She did know that Ron was a great deal more clever and calculating than Kim realized; something she had tried to tell the redhead when she warned her against playing the guy. Right now, if she had to choose between a paranoid assassin and a self-serving childhood idol, God help her, she would side with the assassin.

Marie reluctantly met Ron's gaze, faced with the uncomfortable prospect of telling him she agreed with him. While his expression remained impassive, there was a tension in his shoulders, indicating the emotions that must be churning inside. Marie opened her mouth to respond, only She opened her mouth to deliver the bad news, but was interrupted.

The bathroom door, which had closed behind Kim scant minutes earlier, burst open to reveal a now dressed redhead, her eyes red and swollen as though she had been crying. With a savage swipe, Kim swept the moisture from her eyes and focused her gaze upon the only male present. With a determined stride, she crossed the four feet separating her from her quarry and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Her eyes locked with his for a bare moment before, exhibiting more force than passion, she pulled their bodies together and locked her mouth onto his.

If Marie's mouth had not already been open, her chin would have dropped to her chest in shock. Kim released her desperate hug and allowed her hands to wander up Ron's body, where she twined her fingers in his hair. The gesture looked strange to Marie, as her view was somewhat blocked by Kim's body. However, when the transient shifted her viewing angle, she saw why Kim was clinging to Ron's head. Ron was pushing against her chest, avoiding groping his amorous assailant, while Kim was doing everything she could to resist the separation.

In the blink of an eye, Marie realized that what she had thought to be a heartwarming, desperate and misguided act of passion was really abuse. She acted without thinking, her brain dredging up memories of being where Ron was right now; with some guy assuming, because she had no roof over her head that she was willing to provide a little action, in return for a night's shelter. She sprung to her feet and reached towards her former idol, noting that Ron had clamped his jaw closed, clearly resisting Kim's efforts to push her tongue into his mouth. Without a moment's hesitation, Marie seized a handful of the famous, red mane and yanked.

While Kim was no longer the world-saving heroine, she was still strong enough that Ron was unable to dislodge her without injuring her. The painful hair-pull proved to be enough to peel the redhead off of her perch and Ron's shove sent her stumbling backwards. The waterbed's edge caught the back of her thighs and she wound up sitting on the bed, looking at her companions with a dumbfounded expression.

"Just what are you trying to do?" Marie demanded of her childhood hero. "In case you haven't noticed, you haven't patched things up with him that far yet!"

"I was trying to trigger his memory," Kim wailed back. "Hoping he would remember something if I…"

"If you did the wild thing, whether he wanted to or not?" Marie snarled right back. The vagabond refused to be intimidated by either Kim's reputation or her capability. Witnessing Kim's aggressive effort to seduce Ron into 'recall-mode' had triggered a response she had never felt before. True, she was dismayed with the 'I want – I take' approach from the former heroine and her own experiences with being subjected to that type of entitlement by others in the past didn't exactly soften her stance. What really got her claws out was seeing Ron subjected to this abuse and a vague wish that it had been her clamped onto the young man.

"Uh, Marie? I wouldn't have…" Ron murmured, unnoticed from his seat.

"Most civilized countries, and this is one of them, have a term for it," Marie continued her heated lecture, ignoring the stunned assassin behind her.

"It wasn't like that!" Kim snapped back, rising to the challenge. Her emerald eyes easily betraying to the other female of the depths of her understanding of why Marie had truly pulled her off of Ron. No words needed to be truly communicated on this issue now, certainly not with Ron in the room. This was a private matter and it was one that needed to be aired between just the two of them.

"I wouldn't have let it get to…" Ron pointed out.

"Then what was it like?" Marie demanded. "It sure looked like you wanted some erotic contact and weren't about to take no for an answer!"

"It was for him!" Kim protested, edging herself forward in a hostile display towards the younger woman. "I had my own memories wiped once, as well. A…familiar event triggered my recall."

Marie stood her ground, but squared her shoulders and stood more upright, clearly showing that she wasn't about to back down. "Then why didn't you just walk out here and tell us what you were doing?" Marie snarled in response. "Why did you keep it up when he was trying to break it off?"

"Uh, Marie?" Ron mumbled. "I don't think…"

"It was for him!" Kim repeated. "All he needed was…"

"Oh, I've heard that one before!" Marie's voice was a vicious growl. "_Hey baby, you'll feel so much better after a little. You know you want it. You just need to loosen up a little._ Oh, yeah! I've heard them all and they all amount to the same thing! I want it and I don't care if you do or not! After all, fifty no's followed by a single whatever is still a yes, right?"

"She wasn't being that…" Ron attempted to intervene again.

"BE QUIET!" The two women snapped at the now-stunned male, before squaring off against each other once again.

"I wouldn't have pushed it that far!" Kim insisted. "I overheard the two of you talking about how he couldn't remember anything about me so I…"

Marie, however was in no mood to hear excuses to what she believed to be a massive violation. After all, how many times had some self-important SOB done the same to her? How many times had she tried to call a halt, or cry out for help, to ears that had no interest in listening? As far as she was concerned, Kim had crossed the line from hero to villain.

"Then why didn't you come out here and talk about something you did together? You said the two of you were friends for something like a dozen years before you really got together! Why did you come out and talk about a movie you saw together or a television show you liked? Why didn't you talk about a party you went to or some junk food he enjoyed? Why did you come out and force him to visit the mouth of the Amazon?"

The two women were forced to glare at the spluttering Ron Stoppable for a moment before they could continue.

"It was…just…I…" Kim stammered, unknowingly mimicking Bonnie Rockwaller's speech when Kim had caught her clamped onto Ron's mouth, all those years earlier.

"Yes?" Marie prompted, her features impassive.

"It's been eight years!" Kim wailed, bursting into tears again. "Eight long, freakin' years without my best friend and boyfriend. The person I loved more than I've ever loved anyone in my life!" Kim turned slightly, now addressing the flabbergasted Ron Stoppable. She refused to meet Marie's eyes as she made this confession. It was Ron, only Ron, who she needed to justify herself to, not some rival trying to twist her words and motivations.

"Eight years, Ron! I know that you've been through nine layers of hell that I can never appreciate but put yourself in my shoes for a moment! I know it sounds selfish but I've missed you so badly, for so long! I haven't spent a single night, in all that time that I haven't thought of you and only you, as I fell asleep, when I could sleep. I did this so that I could dream about you and now, I finally find you and you can't even remember me! I love you and the only thing you can drum up about me is a vague hatred? How can you not even know me when I love you so much?"

The redhead gave her tears a viscous swipe before facing Marie again. "Do you have any idea how rare it is to find true, pure love when you are so young? Do you know what it's like to find your one and only, only to have him vanish without explanation? Do you know what it's like to hope he'll turn up dead, just so you'll at least have an answer? For years I held out hope, and then what followed was silent plea's of just a body to bury so my heart could have some sense of closure. Do you know how much I started to HATE myself for even thinking such thoughts? Do you know what it's like to have the man you planned to spend the rest of your life with return, only to have him not love you back?" Kim buried her head in her hands in an effort to concel the welling of tears that were beginning to cascade down her cheeks. "What's even worse, _Marie_, do you know what it's like to love someone so much and have him confide in another woman because he doesn't trust you?"

"If you want to call me a selfish, manipulative bitch then fine! I'll admit to that and I'll admit that I've been dying to do that from the moment the two of you stepped into his apartment yesterday! Hell, I've been dying to do a whole lot more than that! I've missed him so bad that when I finally saw him… and then when I heard the two of you confiding in the other …"

Marie shook her head, refusing to be caught up in Kim's 'blame-game'. As far as she was concerned, Kim had crossed the line. The two had made promises and pledges the previous evening, agreeing that if the redhead ever did anything to take advantage of Ron, all bets would be off. The only problem was that after hearing the heroine's pleas for understanding, she had to confess that she was deeply troubled and moved by Kim's words. The truth is that she **didn't** know what it was like to experience all those things, but she could imagine. Yet, in the end this was not about Kim Possible crossing some grey area, plain and simple, she had all but assaulted Ron. He was confused and vulnerable to everything that was happening to him. He needed people he could trust to watch his back and stand up for him when he could not stand up for himself, not take advantage of his indecisiveness. "So you decided to jump him, whether or not he returned the feeling?" Marie's tone was still chill, but not the polar ice temperature of a minute before.

"It's more complicated that that," Kim whimpered, pulling her face from her hands, now studying the floor between her feet. "Yes, I'll admit that I've missed the…intimacy…with Ron and I was trying to regain it. Please believe me that I was hoping that somehow, by some miracle, if I rekindled some passion, some fire, that it might trigger something and he would love me back. Truth to tell, right now I don't care if he can't remember me anymore, just as long as he is able to remember our love for one another, we can work out the rest. I wanted him to feel my love in the most intense way he could, I wanted him to know that my love for him would never betray him like he believes it could, that it's real and not some story I've made up just to get close to him and …"

"Umm. Can I say something now?" Ron asked, in a meek voice.

Marie and Kim both turned to glare at the subject of their heated exchange.

"I just wanted to say," he began, flinching under the twin glares. "That first of all, I appreciate you sticking up for me, Marie, I really do and that I'm truly sorry that I can't be who you want me to be, Kim. I wasn't aware you could hear us while we were discussing you, if I did I probably would have kept my suspicions to myself or spoken a little quieter. I … I never meant to hurt you but what I said to Marie, just now, is what I think and feel."

"I..I can't say that I'm going to want to be Ron Stoppable but I do want to get my memories back so that I can decide. Me. Not you, me. I have the right to chose who I am, you can't just stuff memories of your old boyfriend down my throat and get what you want. I'd also like to get my Jason Bourne memories back, so I know just what kind of person he was, as well. I need to know these things, Kim or I will always be living some kind of a lie, trapped between two personas without being able to see either one"

Kim winced when Ron had said _'old boyfriend'_, she felt as though the ground beneath her had opened up and swallowed her whole, but at least there was some acknowledgement there. Maybe she could work with this little breakthrough, later.

Ron stood up and walked over to his knapsack, picking it forcefully up off of the floor. His bearing and posture clearly dictated that the discussion was over. Carefully, he drew back one of the curtains an inch and peered outside, studying the bright, sunny city streets outside.

"However, we aren't going to be able to do anything unless we get moving. We did a good job of leaving a false trail yesterday but it's only a matter of time before Treadstone tracks us down. Not only that, but the two of you slept in, checkout time's in a half hour."

Kim enveloped herself in a self-hug and looked awkwardly towards the other female. The 'Ron' issue would not go away as easily as just changing a topic. "Fair enough," Kim replied, in a neutral tone. Marie offered her a tight nod that told the redhead that they weren't finished with this conversation.

Kim's eyes fell on the keyboard and the connection leading to the screen. It was time to get back to the business at hand. "Okay, time to arrange transportation and leave another false trail," she declared. "I want to send a couple of emails."

"Treadstone has to have all of your accounts hacked," Jason scowled at her. "You'll lead them right to us."

"I don't think so," Kim smirked back.

"Do you really think you can outsmart an entire agency?" Ron's suspicious look was back.

"Only for a short time," Kim countered. The redhead took a moment to collect her thoughts. "I have four e-mail addresses and your right, if they're only half-way competent then Treadstone's already monitoring them but, I doubt that they'll know why I keep so many. One address is a holdover from my adventuring days and is the linked to my site. The second I use to communicate with personal friends and acquaintances; Monique, Felix and some of my old squad buddies. The third is for my family and the fourth is on I've never used before. It's one I keep for emergency communication. Every time I've used my emergency account, I've cancelled it and opened another. Now, my first email will be to a pilot friend of mine, who freelances for the UN. He's got a free pass throughout Europe, so he should be able to meet us anywhere we want."

"And Treadstone must know that as well," Jason pointed out, his expression dangerous.

"Of course, I know that!" Kim snapped back becoming irritated that Ron was questioning her intelligence. "The man likes to fish and the two of us got together for a half-dozen fishing trips. On our first trip, I rented a boat just outside the city of Nice. We were about four miles out to sea before we realized that we had both assumed that the other one was going to bring the tackle. We've referred to that as '_The Blunder Trip'_ ever since. I'll ask him to meet us where we cast off for our Blunder Trip. I really doubt that Treadstone will know what I'm talking about."

"But they probably tracked your movements," Ron pointed out, unaffected by the redhead's snappy reply. "They might not have the manpower to stake out every place the two of you visited, but they might get lucky and guess the place you want to meet."

"That's where the second message comes in," Kim grinned. "I'll send a message to Duff Killigan, via my site address. He owns a small island off the Scottish Mainland. I'll ask him for sanctuary."

"I thought we were heading to some island in the Mediterranean!" Marie protested.

"We are," Kim agreed. "That's why I'm asking Duff to help us. With any luck, Treadstone will believe that we're trying to get to Scotland."

"Asking a pilot for help will strengthen the deception," Ron mused. "Insinuating that you want to go to Scotland while contacting someone with international flight clearance makes sense. The two stories will support each other…but maybe too much."

"Like I said, I'll be using different accounts," Kim suggested. "Maybe Treadstone will think that I'm naïve enough to think they don't have them all hacked. After that, I'll send a blanket e-mail to my family and close friends. Nothing too specific, just that _'I'm alive, safe and will see them real soon.'_ With the controversy that I am certain Treadstone's false news report has stirred up, the people I care about are going to be very worried. I'll keep the communiqué brief and send it to nearly every one I know. I'm sure that Treadstone won't look to deeply into the motives of it, especially if they have 'Tooth' and Killigan to focus on. This simple message will make its way to Bonnie's account and I know she checks her account up to 5-times a-day so there is little chance she will miss it."

"Whose Bonnie?"

Kim smirked at Marie. "Bonnie is Senior Senior Junior's fiancé. The so-called happy couple lives on that private Mediterranean Island with Senor Senior Senior. The e-mail should help provide her with some notice that I'm running around Europe. She and Senior will deduce that I'm being pursued and will be sort of looking for me."

"It's not the best plan in the world," Ron commented. "But I think it's the best we can come up with."

"How long to get to Nice?" Kim asked as she started to type away on the keyboard.

"Let's give us three days," Ron suggested. "Even with disguises, we won't want to use public transportation."

"Three days isn't very long to vagabond it across the country," Marie commented. "Take it from me, I know."

"If we can't move quickly, we're dead anyway," Ron told her as he looked, discreetly, out the window again.

"Okay, I'm accessing my accounts now," Kim informed them. "Feel free to check what I'm about to send."

While Marie didn't make any comments, taking the opportunity to pull her own clothing on, Ron approved of the language Kim intended to send. Soon, both primary messages were on their way and the generic ones would follow.

With a single icon click of 'Send' the sending bar at the right-hand bottom of the screen flared into life and began stretching itself into completion of task. The trio was certain, Treadstone was probably already reading them.

"Okay, the next stop is the stylist's shop," Ron declared. "What was his name again?"

"Francois," Kim answered, politely averting her gaze while Ron got dressed. The redhead frowned at the bloodstains on the front of his sweater, but hoped that nobody would give him a terribly close inspection.

"Francois," Ron repeated, committing the name to memory. "From his shop, we'll leave the city either to the north or the west, leaving a false trail in case anyone notices us. We still have a lot of planning to do, but we can't stay here any longer."

~#~#~

It took an hour for the trio to make their way across Paris to the city's upscale, stylish boutique area. Everywhere they looked, they were confronted by the city's wealthy and influential, the sort who could spend an entire afternoon, and a working man's weekly wages, questing for the 'natural' look. Kim shoved that cynical thought to the back of her mind. She had, on occasion, made use of her old friend's talents. Now, however, she and her companions looked tragically out of place, surrounded by the city's power players, driving their German and Italian sports cars, the trio was conspicuous in their averageness.

The shop itself was a very nondescript building located in a very high-profile neighborhood, a place that looked like the owner didn't want to draw attention to himself. Yet, a true artist and genius lurked inside. Francois might not be up on most current political events or economic situations, but few knew more about hair and how to make it compliment the bearer and his or her apparel. The man had cheerfully tended to both nobility and the common man, at least those who could afford his services. It was rumored that his services had, in the past, been that extra little push that got an actress the lead in a blockbuster, obtained the coveted position for a prospective CEO, or even made or broke a political candidate.

Of course, a talent like this didn't sit around idle. Some of his appointments were made literally months in advance and it was unheard of for a group of three 'Joe and Jill six packs' to just walk in off the street and obtain his services. Kim, however, knew a little more about him. Like many masters in the various arts of enhancing a client's appearance, Francois was used to the occasional, panicked celebrity showing up suddenly, desperate for a quick miracle. Francois' clientele, Kim included, knew how to get on his 'mercy list'.

Finding Haute D'Style was the first step. It had been over a year since she had visited his shop and it had been almost ten years since she had reached it via the subways, without a cab to deliver her. Kim didn't have to try to humor Ron's request that they travel a random, circuitous route; simply finding her goal involved a great deal of lost wanderings. Ron had proven capable of keeping a low profile, even with their faces plastered upon every front page. The amnesiac obtained a city map and the three kept their heads together and planted close to the paper. Rather than looking like they were keeping their faces covered, they looked like a trio of lost tourists who didn't want to throw themselves upon the uncertain mercies of the Parisian cabdrivers. Finally, upon finding the proper shop, Kim led her companions away from the front door and into a nearby alley.

The back door to Haute D'style sported a keypad, speaker and a simple doorbell. Praying that her old friend hadn't changed the combination, Kim typed the code he had given her into the keypad. While the door didn't open, a green LED flashed, indicating that her code was still good. Moments later, a friendly voice greeted her over the speaker.

"English, if you please," she requested, in response to the greeting.

"What may we do for you?" Her unseen counterpart asked.

"Three for an emergency," Kim replied.

"Please come in," the voice was accompanied by the sound of the door's lock releasing.

Kim pulled the door open to find herself facing a stylish woman, perhaps two years her junior.

"Francois is currently overseeing his charges," the young woman assured the trio, leading them down a short hallway. "He will be with you shortly. In the meantime, let me show you to your private room."

"Thank you," Kim smiled. "And please pass on our condolences about Gigi the first."

The young woman flashed the redhead a smile that conveyed the fact that she understood she was about to pass on a secret message that she did not understand. She ushered them into a small, yet comfortable room, which was dominated by a hairdresser's chair. Once the guests were seated, the young woman exited the room, closing the door behind her.

"An emergency room at a hairdresser?" Ron asked, with a slight smirk, once they were alone.

"You don't speak _'woman'_ any better now than you spoke _'girl'_ when we were teens," Kim smiled back. "Say a celebrity woman suddenly receives an invitation to a high profile event. Of course, she'll need to have her hair done but she won't have an appointment. If she were to show up and Francois were to bump another appointment for her, he would get some very bad press. On the other hand, if she's a long-standing client, Francois will give her a code for the keypad. That way, he can see to her without making it look like he's pandering. In addition, she can obtain the service with complete anonymity, maintaining the illusion that she didn't visit a stylist at all and that her hair always looks the best."

"What about Gigi the first?" Marie prompted, as Ron shook his head in amazement.

"His prize poodle, now long deceased," Kim answered. "He loaned the dog to Ron and I once. When he hears about the dog, he should realize that I'm the one waiting here."

Any response that either Marie or Ron could have made to this was interrupted when the door flew open again. The trio had a moment to contemplate the tall, slender man facing them. Ron had a moment to appreciate the irony that the famous hairdresser appeared to be balding before their host stepped into the small room and closed the door behind him.

"Mademoiselle Possibeel!" He exclaimed. "Is it really you?"

"Hello, Francois. I trust I'm not interrupting anything important?"

"Nothing that I won't set aside for a dear, old friend in trouble," the Frenchman declared, stepping up and clasping her tiny hand in both of his. "I saw the news this morning and my heart nearly stopped beating! I couldn't believe what I was seeing but the papers all agree you were kidnapped and your intimate boyfriend murdered! The man who did the deed…" the hairdresser's voice faded to silence as he recognized Ron's features from the media blitz.

"Don't believe everything you see in the papers or on television," Kim urged him, placing a calming hand upon his shoulder. "This man is no murderer and I did not have a relationship with that other man. In fact, that other man attacked me and this man saved me."

"But the photographs? The two of you were close, no?"

Kim remembered Ron and Marie telling her about the news broadcast insinuating that she and 'Choirboy' were lovers. According to them, the news channel had also offered some photographs as evidence.

"I haven't seen these pictures," she confessed to the stylist.

"One moment," he declared. "I will fetch today's paper and then we will see to why you are visiting me."

Francois was gone for less than a minute, giving the trio scant time to share nervous looks. The energetic hairdresser quickly returned with a copy of _Liberation_. Two pictures dominated the front page, the first showed Kim and the grinning assassin in London, with linked arms. The second showed her and the man on some beach, a nude beach if the observer was to draw the obvious conclusions from the strategically placed blurring. Neither image was of her, of course. While it was her face looking back from the photographs, the bodies attached to the faces were subtly different from her own. Someone in Treadstone had found images of women with builds and complexions close to her own and performed some alterations. The cropping and doctoring had been very well done, no wonder Ron had been so taken the previous night and had assumed that she was some kind of plant. The images could fool almost anybody.

That last thought brought her up short. These pictures! Surely her parents had seen them by now! She did some quick, mental calculations and realized that it was still morning in Middleton. The story, however, had broken last night, locally and that would be late afternoon back home. Not only would her 'rents be beside themselves with worry over her reported kidnapping, they would also be confronted with pictures of her, in the buff, with a man they had never met. The thought of the less than considerate reporters swarming into their 'Father Knows Best' life filled her with anger. Then there were the tweebs. True, there were every bit as annoying now as they were when she was a teen but they had always been incredibly protective of her. This familial defense, combined with their even greater computer and rocketry skills, could spell disaster for CNN, the BBC, Fox News, Sky News, or any other network that got a little too enthusiastic about reporting the steamier side to this story.

Kim heaved a sigh. Back in her teen years, the occasional pervert would make a few alterations to her photos and post them on the net. She was unaware of most of these incidents, as Wade would quickly trace these 'candid photos' back to their source and unleash computer viruses upon the offender. This, however, was at a whole new level. Where the creeps of the past only wanted recognition or money, Treadstone was trying to damage her reputation for reasons she couldn't fully comprehend.

"I did not even know the man," she told her old friend as her grip on the French newspaper tightened. "These pictures are faked. Things are very complicated and I…we need your help. We need to flee the city and we need you to alter our appearances. I'm calling in a favor."

The word 'favor' energized the hairdresser. Although he wasn't a large man, he gave the impression of a soldier preparing for duty. "I am at your immediate disposal, Mademoiselle," he declared. "Tell me your needs and I shall spare no effort or expense to fulfill them."

"This will be a favor in scheduling only, my friend," she replied. "We have money and will pay you for your efforts…And there will be no cutting the bill!" Kim added the last bit, knowing that the man would work himself into poverty to assist those he considered friends.

"You may be putting yourself in danger by helping us," Ron interrupted. The blonde was rubbing the top of his head, smoothing the long-vanished cowlick he had had in his teen years. Kim didn't know if she should be amused at this latest memory blip, or heartbroken that he still couldn't recall her.

"Then we will keep you out of sight, here," the Frenchman declared. "You will need some cosmetic work to alter your appearances, a change of clothing, and transportation out of the city, no?"

"The altered appearance will be good enough, Francois," Kim assured him. "The less you know, the better for both you and us."

"Understood," he answered. "Let me now perform my services."

The salon owner became a whirlwind of activity. The first thing he did was select identities for the three. They all decided that they would look like a small group of American tourists, traveling across the country at their own pace. That done, Francois called a fellow businessman, then gave his guests some masquerade masks to conceal their facial features. Shortly thereafter, an apprentice tailor showed up and took the fugitives measurements and left, never knowing their identities or seeing their faces.

"Celebrities do not always want the tabloid photographers to know their activities," Francois told Kim, in response to her question. "Several of us who deal in fashion and glamour have this cooperative agreement. A client, who knows the proper people, can visit one of our establishments and receive the benefits of all of our services, in complete anonymity. Now Miss Possible, I would like to work on your young lady companion."

Marie was, of course, delighted. As an occasional Parisian, she had heard of the famous Francois but had never thought that she would benefit from his services. Even though it was for a disguise job, rather than a true beauty treatment, Marie considered it a treat. In a short time, her auburn coloured hair was blonde and curly, rather than wavy.

"Now for you, Miss Possible," their host declared. "I am afraid that your long, red hair is too well known to remain. You will become a short-haired brunette."

Kim was surprised at how much this upset her. She didn't think that she was vain but her heart twinged at the thought of losing her hair. She laughed at her own discomfort as she climbed into the chair. After all, if she kept her well-known hair, she might not survive. If she survived, she could always re-grow her hair.

The Frenchman's scissors moved above her as though they were possessed by some enthusiastic demon. "I was actually quite sad when you told me that you were not intimate with the man in the photos," Francois told her, making conversation as he removed the majority of her mane.

"Why would that be?" Kim asked. "He was…horrible."

"Ah, but I thought that you had finally found someone," he answered. "Although we have only spoken a few times since your lifelong companion, that blonde boy, vanished, you always spoke of him with such longing and affection. Even now I recall the sincerity of your plea when you asked me to first style his hair nearly 10-years earlier. You wanted him to feel good about himself so you called on me to help you in your quest. So few people are that devoted to another. Even years after his disappearance, you were clearly lonely for him. I had hoped that you had found someone to share your life."

"No," Kim replied, stifling her urge to shake her head. "I haven't managed to find anybody special. I don't think that I'll ever be able to do so. Ron will always be … well, he will always be Ron. No one could ever replace him."

Kim's eyes then caught her reflection in the large mirror as Francois continued to trim away her red-mane. In the background, she observed the seated amnesiac assassin paying very close and silent attention to the private conversation.

"Don't give up hope!" the stylist urged her, now leaning the chair back and repositioning it so that he could bleach her hair in the sink, in preparation for dying it black. "I'll admit that your love life with him was a thing of fine literature; two people molding their lives around each other as friends and having that bond turn into romance."

"That's why I don't think I'll find another," Kim confessed shyly, aware painfully that her intimate words were being processed by the man her heart belonged too. "Everyone I've met is either too serious, cannot cook, or isn't devoted to me the way he was. I truly didn't appreciate what I had at the time."

"It is so sad," Francois commiserated. "I fear for you, my friend. A favorite character in some very old, tragic movies from before our time is an elderly woman, whose love died in the World War One trenches. She is often shown having only his picture and memories. It would be tragic for you to become a living example of this character."

"I guess there's always hope," Kim murmured her face blushing. "But I don't know where to find it and I'm growing weary of the search."

Fortunately for Kim, the conversation turned to happier topics. The hairdresser applied dye to her hair then turned his attention to Ron, while waiting for the coloring to set.

"There is not much I can do here," he admitted. "This young man's hair is to short to cut shorter. While it is tempting to make you a redhead, I believe it will be best to make you a brunette, as well."

As soon as the Frenchman's hands made contact with his latest client's scalp, his eyes flew wide. He recovered from his shock, however, and continued his work in silence. Shortly before he completed his labors on Ron, the fugitives' new clothing arrived.

"I have a bit more styling to perform on Miss Possible's hair," Francois informed his other two patrons. "I have some private fitting rooms across the hall, if the two of you would like to try your new apparel."

"Which will give you some private time with your old friend, won't it?" Ron asked, his eyes scrutinizing the motives for the Frenchman's wish to divide the trio.

"This is true," Francois admitted.

"Good enough," Ron shrugged his shoulders, mollified by the honesty. He favored Kim with the friendliest smile he had produced since this adventure had begun, before he and Marie picked up their clothing and left the room. If he remained suspicious, he did nothing to demonstrate it to the others.

"Miss Possible!" Francois exclaimed in an excited whisper. "The young man! He is your lost companion, no?"

"How could you tell?" Kim gasped.

"Faces and features can be altered," the Frenchman declared. "Believe me, I have seen more than one cosmetic surgery 'miracle'. Faces and features change, but nobody ever thinks to alter the shape of a scalp and I never forget one that I have personally worked upon. Where has he been all these years? Are the two of you still a couple? My indiscression earlier with you is unforgivable, the things I said and in front of him too. What is…"

"Francois," Kim interrupted. "It's very complicated. Please don't ask me any questions. Please try to forget that that was Ron. I'm very serious, you could be in danger and the less you know the safer you will be."

"Very well, my dear," he nodded. "But when you resolve your latest…sitch, as you say, I want a full accounting."

"Deal!" Kim smiled at her friend. She was interrupted by her companions' return.

The trio had decided upon nondescript, practical clothing and Francois' associates had delivered. Ron and Marie looked like typical young, American tourists, the type who took a few years to 'find themselves' by hiking across Europe, while in reality putting off taking on real responsibilities.

"Since you are the most famous," Francois told Kim. "You will need some additional cosmetic work. Fortunately, you are fair complexioned enough to pull this off."

Much as most skilled tradesmen have at least a passing skill with associated trades, the master hairdresser was competent with cosmetics. In a very short time, he darkened Marie's and Ron's skin tones slightly to offer a casual observer a pair of people who enjoyed the outdoor and natural lifestyle. To the no-longer-a-redhead's horror, however, Francois turned her into a Goth, a person who looked upon the sun as their natural enemy. Still, Kim had to admit that it was a good disguise and one that would fool even her own parents if they were to cross her in the street.

Despite the fact that she was ready to cry, upon seeing the pale woman with dark lips and violet eye-shadow looking at her from the mirror, Kim couldn't deny the effectiveness of the trio's concealment, she just wished that Francois hadn't clashed her so drastically from Ron's own 'look'. Marie was standing side-by-side with her 'one and only' and the two looked picture-perfect, like they were both models in a 'Tommy Hilfiger Ad', whilst she looked like Anne Rice's number one fan.

Ron glanced out the back door while Kim put on her new clothing, noting that the sky was growing dark and confirming that nobody was watching the alley. Kim paid their bill, speaking quite firmly with the stylist when he tried to charge them less than what Kim knew he usually did for his services. Ron returned, interrupting the conversation.

"It's time for us to go," he announced to the hairdresser. "I appreciate your efforts. Truly. We could very well owe you our lives, so I want you to know how sorry I am for what I'm about to do. Please don't take this personally."

Before any of the others could react, Ron's left hand lashed out, catching the hairdresser's shirt. The former Jason Bourne simultaneously pushed the stunned hairdresser back against the wall and pulled up his shirt, exposing his soft stomach. Kim, Marie and Francois were too shocked to scream as Ron slashed with the scissors that nobody had seen him grab from Francois' tool tray.

"It's not a serious injury," Ron assured the now quivering hairdresser. Kim could now see that Francois sported a shallow, if bloody cut across his abdomen. "If anybody confronts you about assisting us, show them the wound. When you do, try and remember the terror you were feeling just a moment ago."

Ron dropped the scissors and grabbed a dry towel. Without expression, he pulled the stylist's hands away from the wound and covered the cut with the towel before placing Francois' hands over the fabric, slowing the bleeding. "I'm a wanted murderer, after all, so tell them you were in fear for your life the entire time," Ron instructed him. "When you attended to me, I immobilized these two with duct tape. I wounded you and threatened your employees, so you didn't dare resist. I told you that I would kill you or your employees if you called the police, so you didn't report my actions. Do you understand?"

Francois could only nod, speechless.

"Good," Ron said, slipping an extra thick roll of Euros into the man's pocket. "I didn't say where we were going, only that I would know if you tried to report us. I honestly regret treating you like this but that wound and my fingerprints on the scissors are going to be better than a dozen lawyers, if the authorities track us here. Whatever you do, don't clean them. If the authorities track us to you, just repeat the story I gave you, who knows, you just might wind up some sort of national hero for standing up to me for your employees."

Ron patted the stylist shoulder as a surrogate replacement for shaking his hand and turned to look upon the two stunned and shaken females.

"It's getting dark," he told his two companions. "This will make our disguises better. It's better for all of us if our host doesn't know which way we're heading. This has been a good reprieve and I hope we can meet our host under better circumstances some day, but we need to get moving."

Kim could simply nod her head, numbly. Ron's '_Jason Bourne'_ had emerged and just like the other times she didn't see the transition happen until 'he' was already there. The only thing different this time was that there was no perceived threat, at least as far as she was concerned. _Jason _came out of Ron's Id without provocation, which she suspected meant that the Jason-persona was slowly gaining the upper hand over the Ron-one.

The trio's feet had no sooner met the pavement outside the shop than Ron experienced an explosion of female anger. What surprised Kim the most was that this explosion came not from herself, but from Marie.

"What the fuck was that?!? The guy helps us and you nearly disembowel him?"

Ron's eyes searched up and down the street, looking for anything he might consider out of place and doing his best to ignore the bohemian's rant. It wasn't until the newly dyed blonde and curly haired female forcefully grabbed Ron by the arm and aggressively turned him to face her that any form of recognition appeared on his emotionless face.

"I asked you a question, dammit!"

In a steady and controlled manner, Ron gently removed Marie's hand from his person. "And I gave you my answer inside. If anybody ever finds out that he helped us, it might cost him his life. The injury I gave him looked a whole lot worse then it really was. You might have a hard time understanding it, but I did him the best favor I could."

"But you could have killed him, what if you cut deeper than you intended? What if you had missed your target?"

"Marie, I don't miss. I just put my mind in cruise-control and everything just comes together. Whatever skills I have hidden away up here, I know that I am as equally proficient in whatever weapon I put in my hands as I am walking. If that terrifies you, then imagine how I feel. Am I _'sorry'_ I hurt him? Yes, I am. Do I _'regret'_ it? No, I don't Sometimes you have to do a lot of small evils to accomplish an even greater good."

"That's crap, Ron and you know it." Kim couldn't hold her tongue any longer. This talk of small evils leading to a greater good sounded too much like Ron's former boss. "Marie's right, François not only aided us without question, but he was also our friend. OUR friend, Ron!"

"He was your friend, Kim, not mine. I don't even remember the guy. I'm not saying that what you just said isn't true, maybe _'Ron Stoppable'_ did know him, but *I* don't."

"Oh well, then I guess that just means you can go about maiming everybody you don't remember, right?"

Glancing back down the street, not meeting Kim's eyes, Ron murmured a chilling response under his breath. "Careful with what you say, Kim, as we have already established I don't exactly remember you either. So I wouldn't provoke or offer me such an invitation if I were you."

Kim's blood ran cold, she was certain that Ron didn't mean her to hear his words but it didn't change the fact that she had. This was the third _'threat'_ Ron had made to her in less than a day. Three-times more than he had ever made to her in her entire life. "My God, Ron," she snapped back. "What did those bastards in Treadstone do to you? Don't you care about anybody but yourself?"

For a brief moment, Ron's face lost its impassiveness and became as mournful as the former redhead's words sunk in. "I … I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. I don't why I said that just now. But …but I don't see the world the way you do, Kim, that's for damn sure. And I think you two have best start accepting this. To the two of you, everyone is just a friend you haven't met yet. And that's great. But for me it's not that simple or honest. For me it's about the _'angles'_ and judging the advantage. My mind is always ticking over on either '_fight or flight_', assets and liabilities. For whatever reason, Treadstone, made me a survivor. Someone without sensibilities or moral ambiguities towards achieving their ends and objectives."

"My world, Kim, is made up of shadows and darkness and it's because I live in this _'grey'_ that I know the attitude and tactics of the people after me …. After us. A black eye and a couple of bruises wouldn't have cut it with them, they would have thought that kind of thing as being below someone with my 'skills' and an obvious give away to François' collusion. If they were able to track us to him, they'd see right through it and tortured him until he cracked. And he would have cracked, Kim, because they wouldn't have stopped until he did. After that, they would most likely have killed him."

Ron then dug his hands in his pockets as the street lights began to flicker into life. "The two of you may think of me as some kind of monster and to be honest, I can't blame you. You stand there now not knowing exactly what I'm capable of. As for me? I *KNOW* what I can be capable of and it scares me to death. There is blackness there, a void in me of emotionless freedom. It's because of this I didn't what you two to come with me and why I wish to God now for you both to just turn around and pretend you don't know me and just let me disappear. But your not going to do this are you?"

Kim and Marie in union shock their head in the negative to the question.

"I'm going to probably do things … *have* to do things, that you are not going to agree with. Your not going to like it. Your going to want to yell, stomp your feet, threaten me, call me names, challenge my decisions. Your going to want to have a say in what we do and why we do it, but guess what, this isn't a democracy. Whatever I have to do, I do. Whether it's lie, borrow, steal, beat down or beat up in order to give us an extra day's distance or one additional advantage over the people hunting me down. Then I'll do it. I won't be happy about it, but I'd do it just the same. And worry about making amends for it all later if we survive. I will make this up to François, Kim, you have my word on that. And though you might still look on me as a bit of a monster now, know this: I'm *YOUR* monster. And I will do everything in my power to keep the pair of you safe, even if you don't like the way I go about it. Even if it might cost me my life, I'll keep you both safe."

Kim looked up at Ron dumbfounded and she knew without having to share a glace with Marie that the sensations and emotions that were roaming in the pit of her belly were probably doing the same to the other as well. One minute ago she was angry to the point of tears at him, now she was happily prepared to be arrested for lewd acts on a public street as long as Ron played along as her accomplish.

Ron was right, as he was before, this was his 'world' and it was an 'eat or be eaten' one. She may not like how he … or 'Jason' would do things, but she had to trust that these things were being done for her and for their over all survival. Without speaking any additional words, Ron started to walk down the street, not bothering to look back to see if 'his girls' were joining him. For a brief moment both female's eyes sought out and found the other. No words were shared, but both young women knew that this would be Ron's last attempt to dissuade them from joining him on his mission.

To Kim, Marie seemed a lot more paler then she had a moment before. But her features were determined and set. And with a blink of an eye, the lock the two had momentarily possessed was broken. The newly dyed blonde then started jogging down the street to catch up with the male. As Kim watched the female run, she reflected upon the genuine fear that she saw reside in the other and felt a pain of cowardice on her part for allowing her to have such emotions. She was Kim Possible, Hero-Adventurer, the 'I can do anything' Girl. When did she become so useless and helpless? There was a time where her mere presence used to encourage in others hope. She never would have stood numbly silent as a dear friend was slashed with a pair of his own scissors. And she certainly would never have allowed herself to be brutalised, or threatened to be brutalised without wanting to fight back. She had been on the back-foot ever since this assignment began, but François was the last straw. This might be very much Ron's 'Grey' little World, but he was going to be using HER resources to survive in it and she was not going to allow anyone else suffer, not friend, not stranger. She was better then that. RON was better then that. And if 'Jason' had a problem, then well … she guessed they had a problem.

Maybe instead of repeatedly having to tell Ron that he was in love with her, she instead show him WHY he was in-love with her. Since the second they were re-introduced she had to admit that she was behaving very un-Kim. She was servile, anxious to please. Happily giving the lead up to other's. Maybe he couldn't remember her because she wasn't doing anything that he could remember. When she had her own memory issues years before, Ron was telling her for days that he was her BFBF and she thought he was joking. It wasn't until his pants fell down on a mission that it triggered anything even remotely romantic in her memory. Maybe she needed to show Ron a _'pant's fall down moment'_ too? Maybe she had to be who she was and is. Maybe she had to be THE Kim Possible: The '_I can do anything'_ girl once more and not Kim Possible: you lead I follow. She would show Ron why he fell in love with her. If he was about to cross a line then she would be there to pull him back. And if he didn't like it, then he would have to deal with her face-to-face, she would make it impossible for him not too. No more bouncing idea's off of Marie in secret, or talking behind her back. No more moody silence, or pensive glares.

With a black beaded crucifix rattling as her steps increased to a sprint. The Goth dressed Kim Possible's feet found themselves running to catch up with her two companions. Joining them in whatever they would face.

'_Yeah, Ronald Dean Stoppable, I CAN do anything. Even save a friend from himself.'_

_Earlier that day at Nicky Parson's Field Office._

Senior Agent Jack Conklin wasn't a happy man. For one thing, he preferred to keep close to DC, keeping a close eye on this government's doings and only leaving to inspect his field operations. It was a mark of the respect he had for the former Ron Stoppable that he decided to cross the Atlantic and personally see to the man's liquidation. Of course, it was liquidating Jason that had him on edge.

Jack Conklin had dumped a great deal of time, effort and money into turning Ron into Jason. The field operative was supposed to be a productive asset for years to come, before retirement. Despite the conversation Conklin had with Possible, he had honestly hoped that Jason, as all of his assets, would eventually reach retirement. While he knew that most of his agents would meet their ends violently, he did his level best to get each of them through their commitments, while still meeting their objectives. The inevitable stress from trying to both protect his charges and put them in harm's way at the same time had aged the senior agent prematurely, but it was a price he had willingly paid.

Finally, the fact that he had lost another operative and risked exposure had him more than a little edgy. If his personal division within the CIA became public, his life was forfeit. His own mortality didn't bother Jack Conklin a great deal; he had worked out long ago that he wasn't going to live a long, peaceful life. What would happen to his mission and his charges if this came to pass? Jack Conklin lived in the real world. Every major government had a division similar to Treadstone, even if their own citizens resented it. If Treadstone became exposed, the house cleaning would damage the US's spy efforts for years, if not decades to come. Not only that, Treadstone's surviving assets would be fed to the wolves. No, this situation needed to be resolved quickly and quietly and that called for his personal intervention.

"What do you have, Parsons?" He demanded, striding into his Paris office, prompting Jason's handler to jump to her feet.

"We just picked up some activity with Possible's email accounts," the agent explained. "One of the accounts is a sleeper; she opened it several months ago but has never used it before."

"I know what a sleeper account is," Conklin grumbled, hiding the fact that he was pleased his agent understood the ramifications. "What's she saying?"

"Her first message was on a standard account," Parsons reported. "She's asking an old lover of hers for a favor."

"Who's the bedmate and what's the favor?"

"The old lover is one Robert Altis," Nicky answered. "She's asking for a ride for three to an undisclosed location, three days from now. Altis is a semi-freelance pilot, still employed by the UN after six years. He has international clearances throughout Europe."

"Meaning he can get Bourne's party just about anywhere," Conklin concluded. "Where are they meeting?"

"Impossible to determine," Parsons responded, flinching at her superior's scowl. "The two of them took numerous, so-called fishing trips, which were probably just excuses to put out to sea for a little privacy. Possible told him to meet her where they cast off for their 'blunder trip'. Altis does have a private runabout moored in a Marina in Nice, so that's one possibility."

"But only a possibility. If we move there and Possible goes somewhere else, we're screwed. What actions have you taken?"

"I've assembled a strike team, waiting your order to apprehend Altis," Parsons reported. "He's currently returning to Rome from Iraq."

"Let's not risk it just yet; we've already fucked up once on French soil, I'd rather not repeat it again unless it's a slam-dunk. I sure as hell don't want to bring Italy into the mix." Conklin decided. "What were Possible's other messages?"

"The first was a multiple sending to nearly everyone in her private address book, close friends and her family, telling them not to worry and that she's safe despite what the media is reporting. The third one, however, she sent through her old web-site, an account she hasn't accessed for a number of years. She contacted an old foe, one Duff Killigan, and asked him for sanctuary. Killigan and Possible made their peace approximately five years ago."

"A red herring?" Conklin prompted.

"Possibly, but she hasn't used this account for quite sometime so she might think we are no longer observing it."

"Okay, let's assume that she thinks that messages, other than the mass mailing, were covert," Conklin told his underling. "Why would she run for Killigan?"

"Duff Killigan owns a semi-autonomous island. The British authorities leave him be, as long as he doesn't make trouble."

"Making his island a safe sanctuary," Conklin finished Parson's thought. "And we have no way of knowing for certain where Possible is going to link up with her ride. It could be Nice, but as this Altis has a boat and a pilot's licence their mode of transport could be in question. All we know for certain is their probable destination."

"Are you sure you don't want me to order the team to apprehend Altis when he lands in Rome? I could also delay him. The Italian's love their beurocracy, so I'm certain he won't be overly suspicious and it might give us several extra hours to a full day to run down Bourne and his group."

"No," Conklin smiled. "Agent Parsons, are you familiar with the Little Red Riding Hood fairytale?"

"Of course, sir?"

"Why do you think the big bad wolf ran all the way to grandmother's house to ambush the little girl? After all, he had the kid dead to rights on the forest trail."

"Sir?" Agent Parsons was clearly confused.

"When Little Red Riding Hood was on the trail, she was suspicious of the wolf and ready to call for help. The wolf knew that once she reached grandmother's house, she would be isolated and let her guard down. The original version of that fairytale didn't have a happy ending, Agent Parsons, at least not for Little Red and her grandmother. No brave woodsman nearby to hear her screams for help in that fairy tale. Oh no, in the original telling Mr Big Bad was able to avoid his comeuppance."

"Sir, I'm not following your.."

"Get your team ready to move, Agent Parsons," Conklin interrupted his agent. "They're going to go Grandmother's House in Scotland. We'll seize control of the island and be waiting when Mr. Altis drops off Little Red and her basket of goodies. And then? Then it will be dinner time."

_In Japan._

Gowned from head to toe in black, the Ninja slid the door leading to his leader's room aside and entered quietly, sliding the door closed behind him. As his first foot fall fell onto the tightly weaved flooring he removed his cowl and knelt down, staring to the floor to await acknowledgement of his presence.

A figure dressed in ceremonial white stood at the window, looking down upon the training yard below with both longing and regret. After a moment and with a tired and silent sigh she addressed her visitor. "To what honour have you sought out my audience, dear friend? You know that at this time of day I prefer to be alone with my thoughts."

"My humble apologies, Mistress Sensei. But the Holy Blade is glowing once more, and this time it is emitting a vibration."

The male ninja, known simply as Hirotaka, continued to kneel with his head dutifully bowed before the Head of the Yamanouchi Clan. Though the two were of the same age and old study-mates, Yori had risen to the role of Sensei and as such the warrior still knew his place. Unlike others within the school who voiced their dissention, sometimes not very quietly.

Unlike his _'Brothers and Sisters'_, the skilled thief and fighter held his leader no ill-will, nor did he not see any cause to doubt their predecessor's wisdom in appointing Yori to be his successor. Even though he knew that many within the School wanted him to challenge Yori for the title and position. He knew that he was more a man of action than contemplation and that Yori had the temperament for both. As far as he was concerned, she was by far the better choice and he demonstrated his approval through obedience and loyalty.

Yori turned away from the view and looked at her supporter with tired and lonely eyes. Though still in her mid-twenties, she held the bearing of one much, much older. Her youthful face and slender, toned body were things that she sometimes cursed with their deception. She felt old, even though she did not look it on the outside.

Lost in her thoughts, she looked fondly upon her old and loyal friend, Hirotaka. He was still handsome, had a youthful spring in his step and was eagerly liked by all within the school. She however knew she was not. When Master Sensei passed on she prayed that she would finally be accepted, but she was not. At that time she could have used a few more loyal friends like Hiro for the transition stage, but she had so few. Master Sensei was a grandfather-figure to so many in the clan that any who followed him would always be compared to him, usually not favorably.

Now, like so many times, her thoughts found their way back to her memories of the 'Chosen One' and his praise and support of her. How much easier it would have been if, upon Master Sensei's death, he would have been there to support her. His enthusiastic grin and carefree attitude would have been a great counterpart to Hirotaka's quiet, competent support. Unfortunately, that support, and possibly more, was denied her. He was gone.

The weeks and months that followed her elevation to clan leader had aged her before her time. She truly wished that she could attribute most of this _'old age'_ to the stress and burden left behind by her beloved Master but her honesty wouldn't allow her such an easy excuse. The truth was that she lost her youth at the same time as her dear friend and rival Kim Possible had. She aged beyond her years the day that Ron Stoppable disappeared from the world's eye.

She remembered hating her revered teacher way back then. He used to be so prophetic where Stoppable-san was concerned and yet at the time he could not say where Ron-kun was. To a man who could cast his image to the other side of the world with ease and communicate with any living being in this form, how could he not muster the strength to find the whereabouts of one treasured so dearly?

Now she was the Master. She had thought that the responsibilities that came with this title would fill her mind and leave her with no time to dedicate to her loneliness but this was denied her. Even years after her master's death she still felt terribly unprepared and 'clumsy' in the high office she had assumed.

She received the 'obligated' respect of many but she knew that most of her clan disapproved of her appointment. Their resistance was based on two simple facts: One for her young age and another due to her sex. She, of course, had control over neither trait.

Many whispers existed within the Ninja School that she had only raised so highly and quickly due to her being the Master Sensei's favourite student. Other's whispered that she had come so far because she held the 'Chosen One's' favor. Both had attributed to her station, she could not deny it. But there was also a third reason, a reason that secured her ambition early in her life and helped raise her beyond the station of mere ninja. She had made sacrifices and had proven her devotion to both the school and her master, by meeting both the school's needs and her late master's personal desires at the same time. This desire was the surrendering of her only daughter, a daughter that she surrendered to be raised in its father's household, and not allow either father or daughter to know the truth about the nature of their relationship.

She, Yori, was the mother and the Chosen One himself was the father to _'The Han'_.

These days the only joy she really felt was when her child was allowed to visit Yamanouchi for her 'special vacations' and receive her special _'Ninja-Child'_ training. It was the only time she could silently look upon the flesh of her flesh and watch her child grow. The school's other students and teachers revered the young child and cherished her existence only as _'The Han'. _They all treated the young visitor with respect but for Yori? The leader of the Yamanouchi Clan loved the girl as only a mother denied could.

Her cherished Ron-kun met his final fate never knowing, or even suspecting, that he had fathered a child. He did not know that his seed had been extracted from him, covertly, a decade earlier during his first visit to the ninja school.

Master Sensei had two reasons to invite the westerner to visit the school during that fateful exchange program. One reason was to introduce him to his destiny as wielder of the fabled Lotus Blade, the second was to retrieve that which would allow the existence of the destined _Han_. With the use of narcotic incense strategically placed about his sleeping quarters, the Yamanouchi Ninja induced Ron Stoppable to sleep deeply while special Ninja healers 'retrieved' his seed and took ownership of the future.

Ron awoke each morning dazed and confused, casually blaming his disorientation to his the time-difference between America and Japan, the high altitude, the strenuous lifestyle or even his lack of nourishment.

Looking back upon her first encounter with the American Monkey Master, Yori had to confess that he possessed many flaws that did little to impress. He was lazy and goofy, a true slacker who always looked for the easy alternative. Many of her _'sisters'_ were repulsed at the prospect of bearing such an oaf's child but as hard as she tried to look at Ron-kun through the eyes of her brethren, she saw someone completely different than they did. She saw someone who possessed a positive quality that dwarfed all his 'negatives'. She saw a well-meaning, sensitive, amusing and honourable young man who possessed a unique gallantry and whom was unafraid to face possible death for the sake of a friendship or an obligation. When he faced that possible death, he was always displaying the ill-timed and inappropriate American style humour.

Of twenty candidates, she was the only one to volunteer for the…. glorious honor. And to her it was an honor and not an obligation since even though they had only known each other for a few days, the strange, American boy had wormed his way deep into her heart. Being the vessel of his offspring was at first an honor and then a privilege.

When next she met Stoppable-san she had already given birth to a beautiful, healthy baby girl a number of weeks earlier. During this meeting, she was so anxious to tell him the truth, to tell him about the wondrous life the two of them had created. However, this desire to speak was countered by the uncertainty that he would feel objectified if he discovered that his seed had been stolen from him. She couldn't bear the thought that he would reject both her and the child.

During that week, as they searched for Master Sensei, her mind kept returning to the family image she had created in her mind of some future day. She pictured Ron and herself as husband and wife, Hanna as their child and Sensei as father and grandfather to all. This image sustained her even as she came close to giving up hope, sure that she had lost her master to Monkey fist's plots. In truth, she missed her daughter more that week than she had thought possible. Being with Stoppable-san while keeping such a great secret from him felt dishonourable and made her feel unworthy of the support he was freely offering her at finding Master Sensei.

At the completion of the mission she knew in her heart that Ron was not yet ready to know the truth, but she could not deny her yearning. When she left she offered him a simple kiss, one that was freely expressed in American Culture, but in Japan would be strictly taboo. Sadly, he did not realize the significance, or maybe his companion, Kim Possible, played the kiss down for her own benefit. To this day she was never sure on this matter and many times she repeated the age old question; 'What if'? What if she had made her feeling more obvious? Would her open love have changed the outcome?

Eventually, Master-Sensei decided that after a year Hannah had grown enough to be separated from her. It was a decision that she did not support, but she knew that Sensei's wisdom was greater then her own emotions as a mother. So with great reluctance she surrendered her child to it's father's parents, knowing that her sweet Han would be raised in the same household and with the same love as her beloved Ron had lightened her guilt and lessened the sting.

Later that year she remembered telling Kim, when the pair revealed that they were dating, that everyone had a destiny to fulfil. She may never have been able to claim Ron-kun's heart like the red-headed adventurer had, but then again Kim Possible could never stand forth and claim the honour of giving the world 'Hanna Stoppable' either. That was her destiny and claim, and it was one that satisfied her even when she imagined Possible-san and her dear Run-kun kissing and embracing one another.

Now, after many years., Hanna had reached an age where she was beginning to ask question towards her origins. The '_Where did I come from? _and_ 'Who were my real parents?' _questions. Being adopted and loved by the Stoppables was now no longer enough for the curious girl. She wanted to know who her true parents were and how she came to possess her abilities in Monkey Kung Fu. For days the Clan Leader had been successfully avoiding this topic. Asking her instead if her curiosity came from believing that Mr and Mrs Stoppable didn't love her enough, which is why she wished to seek out her real parent's. To the Leader's relief and hurt, the reply was an emphatic no. And after answering this question, Hanna, ceased her queries. Most likely, Yori believed, because the young girl now felt guilty at having other's believe that her adopted parent's did not love her, or she them with all her heart.

At the moment, it was a mild mystery for the pre-teen which was easily silenced, but Yori knew that with the advancement of further years and the greater lack of answers it would undoubtedly become an all-consuming obsession. And when the truth lay revealed, as all truths eventually are, there would exist a strong possibility that the girl would hate her for keeping it from her for so long.

Looking down at the training yard she watched Hanna with secret pride and secret sadness as the girl sparred with several male students twice her own age and size. Though the Stoppables only permitted her to visit 2 weeks a year, these were two weeks in which all the world could go to hell for all Yori cared. Nothing mattered to her as much as viewing her and Ron-kun's daughter grow during those 14-days. And for the last week she had been trapped in her turmoil of wondering on how she could eventually address her child's question without having Hanna turn against her. After all, if there was one thing Hanna treasured more then anything in this world it was the memory she had of her _'Big Bother Ronnie'_. And anyone who would challenge that pleasant perception would easily make an enemy for life.

"Err … Mistress? The Lotus Blade continues to react. What should we do?"

With a slump in her shoulders, Yori accepted this intrusion into her 'personal time' and was again pulled out of her ponderings. The Mistress turned to face her Clan's number one Ninja. "It has been glowing for a week now, correct?"

Hiro's face became alert to the question, inner pleasure claiming him now that his friend was taking his query seriously. "Yes, Mistress. Eight-days in total. This is not a single occurrence, it has been constant, growing in intensity with each passing day. The last time the blade reacted so was when Ronald Stoppable-san acquired the mystical monkey power. We cannot deny what it is claiming, that a new Chosen-One has emerged and the blade both rejoices and calls to its new master."

Yori's eyes narrowed, for the past week she had worked hard to deny the possibility of Hirotaka's words, even going so far as avoiding the Lotus Blade's Shrine. The thought that her cherished Ron-kun could be so casually replaced pained her heart, but she now led this clan and it was time for her to set aside personal heartache and accept her responsibility with her predecessor's grace. "What about the _Han_? Have we extinguished all thoughts that it might be her presence that is making the Holy Blade respond?"

Hirotaka's gaze focused upon the window behind the female, hearing the sound a combat and unmistakable battle cry of the young female warrior. Sadly, he shook his head. "Doubtful, Mistress. The Han is indeed imbued with the Mystical Monkey Power, but I do not believe there is any connection between her and the Blade of the Chosen One."

Yori again turned away to face the window, concealing her worried features from her number one ally. Hanna's conception was secret from many in the School, only herself, the healer's that helped with the birth and Sensei knew the truth of the child's origins. Even during the '_conception and pregnancy'_ period, Master Sensei had conveniently sent Yori on a _secret mission_ that required her absence from the Ninja School for over to a year. When she eventually returned to the school she was placed in special housing. This housing that was next door to the school's hospital and she was specifically 'assigned' to independently care for a new-born baby girl that Master Sensei had _'discovered'_ one morning as he was taking a walk upon Mt Yamanouchi days earlier before her return.

None outside of the _'know'_ were any the wiser as to why that was. Or why she continued with this duty for the weeks and months that followed. And if Hirotaka ever knew the truth, that Stoppable-san was Hanna's actual father and not her adopted brother, there would be the potential for scandal, even more so if it were discovered that she, the new Leader of their Clan, was the mother.

Unaware of the internal conflict taking place in his leader's head, Hirotaka continued with his account. "My doubts are based upon the fact that the holy blade has only one master, mistress, the Chosen One. There is nothing in the scrolls that indicate that the Han has claim over the sword. As a test to this suspicion I have held the blade and it has occasionally pulled me in the opposite direction to where I knew she was. Prior to myself joining you, I had even approached the Han and asked her to take hold of the weapon. Like with all, save the Chosen, she stated that she felt as though the sword was resisting her grasp of it.

"Eventually I did what Master Sensei did a decade earlier when he was first trying to locate Stoppable-san. Which was I placed the weapon on a large map of the world and released the sword over it. The tip drew itself across the paper and stabbed into France. If the blade did this three other times, all to the same location. It continues to react the same way it did when we located and discovered Stoppable-san, the closer we get to our target the more accurate the blade will become in seeking them out and identifying it's new Master."

"So this new … _'Chosen One'_ is French?"

Hirotaka corrected his Mistress. "The new 'Chosen One', whoever that might be, is presently in France. Whether or not this individual is French still remains to be seen. But it is clear that whoever it is they must have been imbued with the Mystical Monkey Power at some time. How this came about I do not know. The statues that radiated Stoppable-san and Lord Monkey Fist with the Mystical Monkey Power were destroyed directly after. So whoever this person must be must have acquired this ability from some other, presently unknown source. Regardless too whoever it is and how, they must possess a purity of heart for the blade to accept this person as its new master. And the Blade has indeed identified that this person is currently in France."

Absently, Yori whispered her response, unaware that the male ninja's keen ears heard her utterance. "There is only one _'Chosen One'_, Hirotaka-san, and that was and always will be Stoppable-san."

With caution, the male ninja spoke up, addressing the sensitive subject. "With respect, Mistress. Stoppable-san is no more. He is gone, lost to us. He either died or fell in another way, a way that ensured that the Lotus Blade rejected him. But now there seems to exist someone whom the Blade responds to again and we must take their candacey seriously and learn from the errors of the past."

"What do you mean, Hirotaka-san?"

"Mistress Sensei, you know better then anyone that many student's felt that Master Sensei was far to lenient towards Stoppable-san. That he spoilt him and allowed the westerner indulgences. As soon as Stoppable-san discovered the nature of his destiny as the 'Chosen One' all efforts should have been employed for him to transfer from America to here to be educated and trained. With Master Sensei allowing Stoppable-san to remain in Middleton with Possible-san and allowing him to be involved in her high profile adventures he was making him an unwilling target. The lifestyle of Possible-san … it's distasteful for any true Ninja. She is too public, too showy. The foundation of a Ninja's training is stealth and concealment, elements that are very much lacking in Possible-san's life. It is even speculated that Stoppable-san may have met his fate at the hands of one or more foes of Possible-san, as revenge. And that the only reason no one has ever claimed responsibility for his death to the World is because Stoppable-san was successful in dispatching that individual before he too took his last breath."

"ENOUGH! I have no desire to hear your shameful words against an ally of this Clan whose loss was on par with my very own. And I will not have you draw blame for decision's made or not made. It is easy to look back on past actions and suggest _'roads not taken'_ as the cause for failure. I can say this with no shadow of doubt in my heart, that Master Sensei or Possible-san would never have done anything that would have intentionally placed his life at risk. Aside from myself, I cannot think of any other individuals in the World who are more willing to lay down their own lives for his then them."

"My apologies Mistress, I was not trying to damage their reputations, just attempting to illustrate the opinion that we might best serve the new Chosen One, the Han and even ourselves if we considered bringing them behind the protective walls of the School rather then employ Master Sensei's method of a 'outside integrative lifestyle'."

Folding her arms in front of her, Yori, starred at the mat at her feet in deep contemplation. "We cannot force this new Chosen One to re-align their lives to ours if they have no interest in doing so."

"But what if it is their destiny to do so, Mistress? I do not wish to anger you, but what if Stoppable-san had been offered this alternative? He might very well be alive today. Mistress, the arrival of a new Chosen One, this must be more then just coincidence. The Ancient Scrolls offer a telling that the Chosen One is the greatest protector The Han would ever hope for, or need. How can such Prophecies be written if there is no longer a 'Chosen One' to protect her? Stoppable-san disappeared while she was still very much an infant, surely she will face more trails in the years to come. Trail's that will require a 'Chosen One' to be at her side. With each year, Hanna Stoppable-san's skills increase threefold. There will indeed come a time where the Teacher's at this School will have nothing left to offer her. And then what? I am sorry to say, Mistress, but Hanna Stoppable-san is not an intuitive fighter, she is however a skilled mimic of the highest calibre. Show her a stance, a position, a move just once and she can copy it flawlessly and effectively. But she lacks the natural creativity and free-flowing fighting style Ron Stoppable-san had as well as other natural combatants possess."

Yori nodded. "You have not been the first of her instructor's to tell me such things. They all say that she is a gift and a talent. But lacks the _'think on her feet'_ methodology that is a necessity in any battle."

"Yes, Mistress. I believe it is because of this reason as to why, Master Sensei, arranged for Stoppable-san's parent's to adopt her. I suspect that he was hoping that some of Stoppable-san's quirks and creativity might rub off on her character as she was growing up in his household and that this might have helped influence her."

Sadly, Yori, nodded. "Yes, Hirotaka-san. That sound's like the kind of thing the Master would have done if he believed that the Han possessed a flaw that would make her vulnerable."

"Mistress, the Han's fate and safety is meshed closely with that of the Chosen One. The Prophecy states that the Chosen One, not us, is the Han's Protector. We must find this new Chosen One urgently so that we can prepare him or her for their destiny Everyday we waste weighing our options is another day of possible threats posed against Hanna Stoppable-san without her foretold defender present."

Yori looked out of her window once more, spying down upon the courtyard where four black figures lay in the dirt, with Hanna, HER Hanna, triumphantly inspecting her fingernails as though to rub in the ease of her victory to her staggered foes. A small smile of pride found its way upon Yori's face. How very much like her father Hanna was becoming. She knew that Hiro was correct with the point he was making, and she knew that if there was anything that would stir her into immediate action it would be the possibility that her 'little girls' life was in danger. They needed to find this new Chosen One and quickly initiate them into their future responsibility.

Hanna slowly spied up and looked up at the window, spotting Yori looking down at her victory. The young Asian girl broadcast a wide smile and offered a respectful bow to her Master and unknown Mother. A bow, Yori, gracefully returned. It was at this moment that the Ninja Leader's mind was seized by a single powerful thought. Why couldn't she seek out the new Chosen One and take Hanna with her? After all, the new Chosen One would have to meet her eventually and it would also give her the opportunity to get to know her daughter in a more personal setting then a school based one. Who could say, maybe she would even be able to ball up the courage and tell her child the truth of her origins and the true identity of her parents. It wouldn't be an easy thing, she knew that. But maybe, just maybe, after they found the new Monkey Master, an opportunity might emerge to reveal the truth that would not lead to harsh words being said by the child.

"Hirotaka-san."

"Yes, Mistress Sensei?"

"I would like you to retrieve the Lotus Blade, and arrange the jet to be fully fuelled and piloted for departure tomorrow at dawn. I would also like you to advise Hanna Stoppable-san to pack her belongings, her stay at the School has now concluded for the year. She will spend the next week with myself seeking out this new Chosen One."

"Mistress?"

Turning back to face her friend, Yori unfolded her arms. "I said I and the _Han_ will seek out this new Chosen One together. We shall be going to France, or to wherever the Lotus Blade leads us. I believe the Americans refer to such a thing as this as 'Bonding'."

Hirotaka vigorously shook his head in disagreement to the suggestion. "Alone? I must respectfully advise against such a thing. Please allow me to perform this quest in the school's name. I cannot allow you to place either the Han or yourself in harm's way. The dishonour to me would be too great if I allowed you to take this journey unchaperoned and a injury befell either of you. What if this new Chosen One cannot be trusted?"

"Then the Lotus Blade would not be calling out to them, would it? No, my dear friend, it is appropriate that Hanna Stoppable-san and I do this alone. It will be a demonstration of respect and faith in this unknown person. If we were to send you, or anyone else, as an emissary, the significance of this person's destiny and our gesture of friendship might very well be lost. Showing up with myself, as leader of our Clan, and Hanna, the focus of their destiny standing beside me, I will be able to address any doubts right then and their. I truly believe the two of us should be enough to convince them of the relevance and importance that they will play upon the future of the world."

"But who will lead the School in your absence?"

Offering the male a gentle smile, the young Asian woman offered. "You shall my friend, and I can think of no one worthier to do so."

"But Mistress Sensei."

"I cannot explain it my friend, several moments ago I was ambivalent. But now? Now I believe that I must do this. That this is a trust I can place on no other but myself. I feel as though myself and the Han must do this journey alone. We both have a deep connection to the former wielder of the Lotus Blade and maybe this will help us both come to terms with our shared loss and grief. Maybe this quest will allow us both to move on."

Hirotaka nodded his head respectfully, understanding better then some that his old friend perhaps needed this sense of closure. "I shall do as you instruct, Mistress Sensei. All things shall be prepared for your departure tomorrow at dawn. I bid you success and safety."

"Thank you, Hirotaka-san."

The male ninja again bowed and withdrew from the room, sliding the door close behind him. Yori turned and once more approached the window, the courtyard had been cleared of training now, offering only a still image of perfection. Steadily, Yori inhaled the mountain air into her lungs before whispering out to the empty sky.

"_You are not replaceable, Ron-kun. But it is time for you to be replaced. Forgive me." _

A lone tear met the flooring at her feet before she wiped her eyes dry. She would cry no-more tears after today for Ronald Stoppable. Her grieving had to come to an end, she had to move on. She could no longer live in either denial or hope that she would ever she her beloved Ronald Stoppable ever again.

A/N: Sorry for the long wait everybody, but I have been pleasantly distracted by a private life as of late …lol.

As always, Daccu65, has to stand up and take a bow for being the inspiration and guidance of this story. This guy deserves kudos, people …lol.

Now to the Comments: Yes. Kim is finally going to come into 'character' and stop following Ron around like a stray puppy dog looking for attention. What Ron did to François was the wake-up call she needed and she's no longer satisfied with being just a 'pedestrian' anymore. She wants to be in the 'game' and be taken seriously by Ron as an equal and not a burden or someone he feels he has to protect.

As for those of you who were not able to make the connection to the Lotus Blade, *ahem*, when Ron gave himself over to the final manipulations and brain washings of Treadstone and accepted his role as Assassin, because his heart was now tainted with darkness the Blade rejected him because he was no longer pure. Master Sensei interpreted this rejection as evidence of Ron's death. When Ron lost his memories, his heart was more-or-less cleansed of the sins and evils he had done so the Lotus Blade began to reach out once more to it's Master.

I thought of including the Hanna sub-plot because the series never really went to any lengths to explain where Hanna came from or why Master Sensei placed her in Mr and Mrs Stoppable's care.

As for introing Yori and having Ron discovering that he was more or less take advantage of/raped and was now a father. Well I just thought, how could I make Kim's life any worse??? …lol.

Would love to hear from you all.

W


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